#and is wrestling him to make him write on a notepad

[pvtpunsart]

this is a bit that me and my friends have and it's never not funny

You'll bury me before I jot a single that in any direction!!!

[kxsagi]

“𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧”

a/n: okay so… i have dante brainrot

(fanart found here)

you don’t know when it started – well, technically, you do. it was a saturday morning, the kind where the sky is grey and the coffee machine starts sputtering at the worst possible moment. you’d just slapped on your apron and were trying to wrestle a ketchup bottle back to life when he walked in. 

all tall, dark, and devastating. like he was in the wrong movie. like he was supposed to be fighting demons in hell or racing luxury cars across italian rooftops, not standing in your small local diner, blinking up at the specials board like he was decoding a program. 

“uh���hi,” you said, a little breathless. “just one?”

he smiled, and the air shifted like a song started playing just for you. 

“yeah,” he nodded, and then… then he really looked at you. “unless you’re off in twenty minutes. then two.” 

you’d laughed. it was polite. professional. you’d been hit on before. you were gorgeous, after all (and humble). but this guy, he looked like he meant it. like he’d follow you out of there and help you change a flat tire and write poetry about it. 

“booth or bar?” you asked, already leading the way. 

he took a booth. he took every booth after that. because that was the first time dante walked into the diner. and somehow, it was never the last. 

“let me guess,” you say now, pen hovering over your notepad. you were standing in the same spot, just three months later. “you’re going to order the other side of the menu today.” 

dante grins, the kind that could make your knees weak if you weren’t too busy leaning on the table like a girl in a romcom who still has three tables left to take care of. 

“how’d you know?” 

“because you circled the first half last week like you were doing SAT prep.” 

“that obvious, huh?” 

enzo, who is already sitting across from dante with the dead eyes of a man who has been dragged here nearly every wednesday and saturday for the last month, doesn’t even look up from the menu. “you’re pathetic.” 

“i’m learning about local culture,” dante retorts smoothly. “and it’s not pathetic if i’m in love.” 

enzo groans so loud it startles the old man in the corner booth. “again with the love.” 

you raise an eyebrow, flipping your pen between your fingers. “oh?” 

“don’t indulge him,” enzo mutters. 

but you do. because it’s funny. because it’s dante. because he’s got this way of talking like everything he says is a compliment in disguise. especially when it is. 

“so…what’s the order today, romeo?” 

dante’s eyes flicker down to the menu like it’s the first time he’s seeing it and not like he’s been aggressively trying every variation of breakfast sausage on god’s green earth just to talk to you. 

“i’ll take… the pancakes.” 

“the banana ones?” 

“surprise me.” 

enzo makes a strangled noise. “he’s trying to make that sound sexy. do you hear that? i’m not hallucinating.” 

you stifle a snort and turn away with a little smile. “you want bacon with that?” 

“only if you eat one with me.” 

enzo slams his head onto the table. 

but despite the old man’s warnings, you can’t help it – dante’s charming. 

not just flirty. charming. he says thank you like he means it. he helps old people with their coats at the door. he offers to fix the paper towel dispenser in the bathroom with his bare hands like he was born to. he even pulled a stray cat out from under your car last week and tried to name it after you (“look at her, she's got your attitude”). 

it would be easier if he was annoying. or weird. or just some guy with a terrible pickup line and an ego problem. but instead he’s funny. he’s sweet. and yeah, he’s tall. 

you just hadn’t expected his height to be his opening line today. 

“so,” he said casually, elbow on the table like he belonged in a cologne ad. “did i mention i’m six foot three?” 

you blinked. “… is that your order?” 

enzo dropped his head into his hands. “kill me.” 

“i just thought you should know,” dante went on, sipping his coffee like it was wine and he was at a gala. “for science.” 

“science?” 

“yeah. for… height-based compatibility purposes.” 

“wow,” you said dryly, scribbling on your notepad. “and here i was, trying to decide if you were a blueberry or a chocolate chip pancake kinda guy.” 

“i’m flexible,” dante said, all smooth as enzo was actively searching for exits at this point. “but i lean sweet.” 

the weeks go by. dante keeps showing up. he’s tried everything from the chili cheese fries to the tuna melt (“a bold move,” you told him, he looked proud). he tips generously (even though you can tell he has no extra pennies for himself). flirts even more generously. sometimes he brings enzo. sometimes he comes alone. and when he does, he sits at the bar and spins the little napkin dispenser like he’s trying to impress it. 

“you ever think about getting a job here?” you joke one afternoon while pouring him another soda. “you’re basically an unpaid intern at this point.” 

“only if i get to wear the same uniform,” he says, eyes dragging up your apron with a smirk. 

you roll your eyes. but you’re smiling. you always are when he’s around. 

enzo walks in late that day, takes one look at dante smiling like an idiot and you laughing like you’ve known him for years, and sighs the sigh of a man who has already drafted his best man speech out of spite. 

“don’t even,” dante warns before enzo can sit. “we’re having a moment.” 

“you’re having a delusion,” enzo corrects. “this is a restaurant, not a dating sim.” 

you just shake your head, grabbing their plates. “pancakes and existential dread, coming up.” 

enzo salutes you. dante grins proudly. 

and you? 

you’re starting to like the regulars. especially the tall one. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[aisiedaisie]

hello!! I was wondering about if you'd be interested in writing a regulus black / sirius black x reader ff where reader is learning french but is terribly horrendous at it

No pressure pooks🙏

Hello hello~!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you for this idea!!! As soon as I saw this ask I knew I had to write it immediately. Now, like the reader in this fic, my French is terrible... I haven’t touched it in years— aside from the occasional Duolingo lesson— so I’m sure my grammar will be all over the place. Hopefully, it’s not too bad, but fingers crossed!

Paring: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.2k

How has it come to this?

You’re perched on the couch in the cozy but slightly chaotic living room of your shared flat, flanked by Sirius and his younger brother, Regulus. Sirius— your boyfriend of six months —leans forward, scribbling something onto a notepad, his dark hair tumbling into his face as he mutters phrases under his breath. Beside you, Regulus sits cross-legged with the air of a reluctant tutor, his sharp features softened by uncharacteristic patience. 

Together, they are attempting what feels impossible: cramming basic French into your overwhelmed brain before you face what you can only describe as a gauntlet— meeting the Black family matriarch.

The mere thought of her sends a shiver down your spine. 

When she found out Sirius was in a relationship—and that she hadn’t been informed— she had, predictably, thrown a fit.

The result? An invitation, that felt more like a summons, to the infamous Black family home for Christmas. As if meeting your boyfriend’s parents weren’t already intimidating enough, there was a catch: she was said to be excruciatingly, almost maliciously picky.

Sirius hadn’t minced words about it, either. “She won’t like you,” he’d said bluntly the night the invitation, if you could call it that, had arrived. “Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t like anyone.”

Which was, of course, impossible to not take personally.

So here you were, cramming vocabulary in a desperate attempt to win even a sliver of her approval. If learning French wasn’t already difficult enough, doing it under the critical eye of the Black brothers was verging on impossible.

“Non, non,” Regulus corrects gently, his tone calm but firm as he watches frustration creep into your features.

You glare at the notepad in Sirius’ lap. The word rencontrer stares back at you like a stubborn enemy, taunting you with its refusal to stick. Sirius seems to sense your despair, because he sets his pen down and shifts closer, his hand moving in soothing circles over your back.

“I’m never going to get this right,” you groan, dropping your face into your hands. The muffled words escape from between your fingers. “Spanish wasn’t this hard. Why is this so hard?”

“You’re doing much better than you think, love,” Sirius says, his voice warm and low, a balm against your growing nerves.

“She might not even say anything in French,” Regulus offers, his tone neutral as though trying not to spook you.

“But it’s her first language,” you counter, peeking at him from between your hands with a pleading look.

Sirius exhales, setting the notepad aside entirely. “You’ll be fine,” he assures you, pulling you gently against his side. You don’t resist. Resting your head on his shoulder feels infinitely better than wrestling with foreign syllables.

“Honestly, you’ll probably win over our dad faster than her anyway,”

“But it’s your mom,” you mumble, the thought of disappointing her settling heavy in your chest.

“She’s probably making a fuss because she needs something to complain about,” Regulus says dryly, his mouth quirking in a half-smile. He gestures toward Sirius with a nod. “And let’s be real... he doesn’t care about her opinion.”

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing he’s right. You’ve heard enough about Sirius’ tumultuous relationship with his parents to know their approval— or lack thereof —means little to him. Still, it doesn’t ease the gnawing anxiety in your stomach. The idea of stepping into that house, of facing her scrutiny, feels like walking into a viper pit.

“Why don’t you try again?” Regulus suggests gently, patting your knee in what you suspect is meant to be a comforting gesture. Though awkward, the effort is endearing. “It’s probably just nerves messing you up.”

You exhale deeply, then nod. Sitting here with them helps—at least somewhat—but their fluency feels like a spotlight highlighting your every misstep. You don’t want to keep fumbling in front of them, even if they’re patient about it.

“C’est un plaisir de vous re—” The words stumble awkwardly on your tongue, frustration bubbling over. “FUCK!” you burst out, dragging out the offending syllable slowly. “Rencontrer, Madame Black.”

Sirius loses it, muffling his laughter behind his hand while Regulus shoots him a sharp glare, clearly unimpressed with his amusement.

“Rencontrer,” Regulus repeats slowly, his voice calm and encouraging.

“Rencontrer,” you echo, focusing hard to mimic his deliberate pronunciation.

“Perfect,” Sirius chimes in, his grin softening as he finally reins in his giggles. “Now just a bit faster, love.”

You shoot him a look, your narrowed eyes more playful than annoyed. “I feel like I’m just free entertainment for you right now.”

Sirius smirks, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re always free entertainment for me.”

“Je t’aime tellement,” he adds quickly, the French phrase rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

You roll your eyes in exasperation. “Je te déteste tellement,” you counter, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Sirius freezes, his expression twisting into mock offense. “YOU CAN BARELY SAY RENCONTRER, BUT YOU CAN TELL ME YOU HATE ME?!?” His voice rises incredulously, his hands flying up in sheer disbelief.

Regulus lasts all of two seconds before dissolving into laughter. “How do you even know how to say that?” he manages between wheezing breaths.

You shrug nonchalantly. “You two say it all the time.”

Sirius lets out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back as Regulus dissolves into laughter again, shaking so hard he nearly falls off the couch.

“Oh my God,” Regulus wheezes, doubling over with laughter. “The one fluent phrase you know is I hate you!” His laughter turns into something closer to a breathless gasp, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His sheer amusement is contagious, and despite your frustration, you can’t help but crack a smile.

“Just—just don’t say that to our mom right off the bat,” Sirius interjects, fighting his own grin as he waves a hand. “If she says something awful, then by all means, go for it, but—”

You whirl toward him, eyes wide in mock outrage. “I would never!”

“Oh no, please do,” Regulus manages, wiping the tears from his face with the heel of his hand. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Je te déteste… you both,” you mutter, your attempt to insult them in French as clumsy as it is endearing. The effort only sets them off again, Sirius and Regulus laughing so hard you can’t help but join in.

“Je t'aime aussi, mon cœur,” Sirius teases, his voice full of affection as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Get a room,” Regulus groans, though the lack of any real annoyance in his tone makes his words land more as a joke.

“You’re in our home,” Sirius fires back without missing a beat.

That’s it— you lose it. Laughter bubbles out of you, breaking through the tension that had knotted your shoulders all evening. Sirius smirks triumphantly at your reaction, his arm pulling you closer, while Regulus just groans again, throwing himself back against the couch with dramatic flair.

In this moment, as the three of you laugh together, the anxiety about meeting the Black family fades ever so slightly. 

It will return, but for now, there’s only warmth, humor, and the feeling that maybe— just maybe —you can get through this together.

 Hopefully…

[yesterdaysgirl]

Patience

Izzy Stradlin x reader

<1993>

Summary: You can't sleep

I stared straight up at the roof. I hate sleep. My body never wants to do it. And to be fair, that's because I had grown accustomed to not sleeping when I was younger. And throughout my teens and early 20s. I didn't want to sleep. I didn't like sleep, it's a waste of time. Why sleep when I could be writing a song? Or recording demos? It was all pointless.

But my finance Izzy thought otherwise. Ever since Izzy went sobre a little over a year ago, he has been very persistent that I get a good sleep. I find it very sweet, but it's times like this I wish he would just let me do my own thing.

I gave up on staring at the ceiling and sat up. I looked over at Izzy. His back was turned to me, and most of the blankets were covering him. I had tried earlier to wrestle my half of the blanket from him earlier, but one thing I have learned is don't mess with sleeping Izzy.

I moved my hand to touch his back. I had never known a man's skin to be so soft. It did make me wonder. I gently stroked my hand along his back. I then moved my hand to move up into his rough brown hair. I smiled at his sleeping figure. I remember when I first started noticing his hair turning into dreadlocks.

I was sitting with Izzy outside the pool we had in our backyard. I was rubbing sunscreen on his back as he had asked. That's when I got a good look at his hair. I stopped rubbing his back and just stared at the back of his head.

“Are you done back there, babe?” Izzy chuckled. I couldn't speak. I was speechless. Izzy must have noticed how quiet I was and turned around to face me. I started smirking at him. He smiled nervously at me.

“What?” He asked. I could only respond by flicking his hair.

“Your hair is looking a bit different these days.” I almost chuckled, with a devilish smirk on my face. Izzy's smile turned into a smirk like my own. He moved his body so he was sitting facing me, and swiftly moved his hands so they were wrapped around my waist. He leaned in and placed a sloppy kiss on my lips. I brought my hands up to his cheeks, cupping them in my hand. We pulled away, and I started twirling a strand of his hair around my finger.

“Do you like my hair like this?” Izzy asked me, looking into my eyes. The smirk that was on his face a few seconds ago had been replaced with a frown. He looked at me worriedly. I kissed his forehead, before looking at him.

“Honey, I think it looks cool. Sexy even. Why?” I asked him, twirling different chunks of his hair in my hand. Izzy looked away. I frowned as well.

“I don't know, I just don't want you to think I'm disgusting, or dirty.” Izzy said softly, still looking away from me. I removed my hand from his hair, and gently grabbed his chin, moving his face so he was facing me. I smiled at him softly.

“Honey, I could never think of you that way. If you want to have dreadlocks, then get them. Who am I to get in the way? It's your life Iz, not mine.” I kissed him again, hoping that had reassured him. He pulled away and hugged me. 

“I love you, Princess.” Izzy whispered into my ear.

I removed my hand from Izzy's hair. I leaned done and kissed his back. I rested my forehead on his back for a few seconds, before leaning back up, and getting out of bed. There was no point in me staying in bed if I wasn't gonna sleep. I grabbed my notebook and pen, and walked over to the doors to the balcony of the hotel we were staying in. I opened the door and shut it quietly. The cool air was refreshing on my skin. I took a deep breath, letting the coolness into my lungs. I sat down, looked out to the city, and started writing.

 ***

I hummed the last part of the song, before putting down the notepad and pen. I will show this to the rest of the girls tomorrow. I stood up from where I was sitting on the floor of the balcony and stared out into the city. There were a few smaller buildings complexes in front of the hotel we were in, before a beautiful beach started. I loved California. It was such a beautiful state. I leaned my elbows up against the railing and rested my face in my hands. This was a breathtaking view.

 I had been standing there for a while, before the screen door opened. I turned around to see Izzy standing in the doorway of the balcony. His hair was a bit of a mess, but it was always like that, even before he got dreadlocks. He was rubbing sleep from his eyes. I smiled at him. I slowly walked forward until I was in front of Izzy. I looked up at him.

“What are you doing up princess?” Izzy asked, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. I hugged him as well. I leaned my chin on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

“I couldn't get any sleep, Iz. I thought I would come out here and do something useful.” I told him. I moved my hand so it was stroking the back of his head.

“So looking out into the sea was useful?” He asked. I chuckled, and removed my arms from Izzy’s body, looking up at him.

“No silly, I wasn't just looking out into the sea. I was writing a song.” I told him. He closed his eyes for a second, before opening them and looking at me very seriously. Izzy moved his hands so they were holding mine.

“Princess, you can't just keep skipping out of sleep. It's gonna mess you up. I know it's going to be hard, but once you start doing it, the less hard it will be. Ok?” Izzy brought my left hand up to his mouth and placed a kiss on it. I pulled Izzy closer by his hands, so our bodies were touching. I then let go of his hands, and moved my arms so they were hugging him.

“I know Izzy. It's just hard to start.” I mumbled into his chest. A few tears leaked out of my eyes and onto Izzy's skin. He felt this and pulled out of the hug quickly. He saw I was beginning to cry, and quickly wiped away my tears with the pad of his thumb, before bringing me back into the hug.

“I know darlin’, I know. But I promise it will all be worth it once you start. Please just try. Try for me, princess.” Izzy told me softly, rocking us side to side. I looked up at him.

“Why are you so good to me?” I asked. He shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

“Because I love you. Now get your ass back into bed, I'm getting cold.” Just as he said that, like on cue, he shivered. I giggled and nodded. I grabbed the notebook and pen, and followed Izzy back into the bedroom. I put my song back on my desk, and walked back over to the bed. Izzy was already in it, his arms open wide for me to crawl into.

I smiled at him, before getting back into bed. I nestled myself into Izzy’s arms, wrapping my arms around Izzy.

We lay in silence for a few minutes, just holding each other in our arms. I was still finding it hard to sleep. At this point, I was just getting frustrated with myself. I opened my eyes again and looked at the wall. I looked up at Izzy to make sure he had his eyes closed. He did for a split second before he opened one and looked at me.

“Baby, just relax. It’s gonna take some time, but you have to try. Try for me, ok?” He whispered, finishing with a soft kiss on my forehead. I nodded, and closed my eyes, burying my face in his neck, trying to slow down my breathing. I felt another kiss being pressed to my skin, and I smiled. 

“Goodnight Princess.” Izzy softly said in my ear.

“Night Iz.”

[adaptacy]

Can I request a Leland x reader going on a date? I feel like he would like either star gazing dates or going to get milkshakes. Or anything else! Whatever gets the write juice going thank you!!

ugh yes absolutely im so happy im getting leland requests <333 keep 'em comin!

GN!Reader, completely SFW, just Leland bein a cutie hehe <3

"Can't believe you've never been here," the brunette laughed, picking up his pace for just a few steps, enough to cross in front of you and grab the handle of the glass double-doors, opening it for you. You shot him a smile, and he dipped an imaginary hat at you as you entered the building. Leland followed you in, placing a hand on the small of your back for just a moment before he quickly pulled it away, not wanting to be too forward.

The building you'd entered was practically a pastel and neon heaven; a quaint café, with checkered floors, a bar lined with white lights, and a dining floor with purple and the closest thing to neon blue chairs. You watched Leland as he stepped in front of you again, beckoning you over to the bar.

"Best damn milkshakes in town. Seriously, you've been missing out," he laughed, hopping onto one of the black barstools and giving it a spin before planting an elbow on the bar. "You have had a milkshake 'fore, right?"

You chuckled, sitting next to him and nodding. "Yes, of course I've had a milkshake before. I don't live under a rock," you teased, looking at the cow-spotted menu and scanning the options.

"Coulda fooled me. D'you have a favorite flavor?"

"Hmmm.. Strawberry's always nice. Pretty, too."

"Oh, yeah. Mine is cookies 'n cream. Especially when they give me the big chunks of Oreo- Really hits the spot." Leland raised a hand as the waitress behind the counter looked in your direction, and she gave the two of you a smile, trailing over with a small notepad in her hands.

"What can I get y'all?" She asked.

"Uh, a cookies and cream, and..." Leland looked over to you, not wanting to jump to assumptions. Maybe you wanted to switch it up this time around. He shouldn't assume that you'd get your favor-

"Strawberry, thank you," you requested, and the woman nodded, scribbling down your requests.

"I'll be right out with that."

Leland turned his head back to you, resting his temple against his fist. "Keeping it classic. Respect."

"...You ordered your favorite too?" You laughed, shaking your head, a little confused by his statement.

"Yeah. 'ts why I respect it," he chuckled, awkwardly, and then cleared his throat. He sat up, laying his arm flat on the counter. He seemed to be thinking of something to say, and you tried to help.

"So, why are these the best milkshakes? What makes them so special?" You asked.

Leland thought about it for a moment, scratching his neck. "Well, they're super sweet, and pretty flavorful. And, uh... Just really good, I guess. You'll get it when you try it, I promise. And if you don't, I'll cover it." He grinned, and then his smile dropped, and he shook his head, his cheeks growing a small tint of pink. "I mean, I'll pay either way, I just meant-"

"Leland, it's cool, I got it," you chuckled, finding his clear nervousness rather adorable. He wasn't usually like this- he gave off a rather confident vibe, but you also didn't know him super well. You were sorta surprised when he asked you out, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't somewhat interested in him. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

Leland let out a breath of relief, and he nodded. "Sure, go for it."

"What got you into wrestling? You don't seem like a wrestler," you asked, leaning your head on your palm. He smirked, and it was only for a split second before his gaze wandered off to the side and he thought of an answer. Still, that smirk was definitely ingrained in your memory. It was a strange expression on someone so innocent, so vibrant- you wondered what it meant.

"Honestly, always been more of a football guy myself, but I got recruited by the Captain, and originally I just meant to try it out, but I actually ended up liking it quite a bit. And the schedule conflicts with football, so I chose wrestling, ultimately," he explained, still looking off in the distance as if in a different world completely. His gaze then snapped back to you, and he grinned. "You in any sports?"

"No, not me. Interesting to watch them, though. That makes a lot of sense, actually. You seem like way more of a football guy than a wrestling guy. Not in a bad way, just in a-"

"In a jock way?" He laughed. "I get that a lot. I was, actually, in football, all throughout high-school. Was a linebacker," he bragged, showing off his teeth once more. His grin was adorable, in a goofy, playful kind of way. And he grinned a lot. He was just nice to be around. Inviting, gentle, maybe a little dumb, but he clearly meant well.

"Yeah, yeah, in a jock way. I'll be honest, when Connie told me about you, I kind of assumed you were some playboy ass, but clearly you're not," you hummed, and Leland looked as though he wasn't sure how to take that. But after a moment of processing, and smiled.

"Yeah? Mkay, what am I then?" He asked, his tone playful instead of hurt.

"Hmm..." You murmured, looking him up and down. He wore a white button-up with red flowers embroidered on the shoulders, and typical southern jeans, along with... what looked like cowboy boots. You looked back up at his face, and he narrowed his eyes, curious. "You're friendly, and outgoing, but not in a playboy way. A little awkward, if I'm honest, but not in a bad way. In a cute way," you complimented.

Leland's smile looked a little more genuine, and he scoffed, his slight blush returning. "What a sweetheart," he hummed out.

"What about me?" You asked.

Leland looked you over, taking in your outfit choice, and he took a little longer to think. "Hmm... Connie told me a bit about you, too, and I kind of assumed she was just throwing people my way because she could, but I actually think she saw something. Potential, yknow?"

"Potential?"

"Yeah, like- Well, you aren't in sports, but you said you like watching them. That's one point right there. And... you like milkshakes. That's two. And you're definitely confident, from what I can tell, but... hmm.."

"...Buuuut..?" You asked, leaning a little closer.

"I think you're just tryin' to impress me," he chuckled, his eyes shifting over to the waitress as she emerged from the kitchen once more and presented the two of you with milkshakes. Sitting at the top of his whipped cream was half an oreo, and he smirked again. "Hell yeah."

"You sure its not just your ego talking?" You asked, taking a sip of the milkshake. It was definitely rich, and Leland wasn't lying- it was really good. Genuinely probably the best milkshake you'd ever had. You took another sip.

"My ego? I, uh, I don't think so. I was mostly joking, I don't mean that-"

"I am," you confessed, finding the guilt that covered his eyes cute. He really was trying his best to be a gentleman, and you had to commend his efforts. He was doing fine, but maybe overthinking things a bit.

"You are?"

"Well, yeah. From what I've heard, you're pretty popular. Plus, athletic. And attractive. 'course I wanna impress you."

Leland nodded his head, taking a sip of his milkshake. "Well, you're doin' fine in that department. To be honest, I was a tad surprised that you took me up on this date. Figured you'd have a boyfriend already, or something. Glad I was wrong."

"Might have one by the end of the night," you teased, and Leland took a second to realize what you were implying, and then the smirk made a return. And then it spread into a smile again. You really wanted to know what that was about.

"Yeah? I wouldn't be completely opposed," he hummed. "How's the milkshake?"

"Even better than I was expecting. You were right, I think it's the best I've ever had," you complimented, drinking down the sugary delight.

"What? You didn't trust my taste? C'mon now, sweetheart. Surely I get more credit than that," he laughed, taking another sip of his milkshake, seeming to not even notice the nickname he'd slipped in.

But you definitely did. And you wished you could blame your blush on the strawberry milkshake. You cleared your throat, nodding. "Well, you have my trust now. Hard not to trust a man with good taste in milkshakes."

"I'm honored. Just glad I could show this place off. Real underrated, if you ask me."

"Seeing as how I'd never heard of it before, I have to agree. Surprised to find it's not some hole-in-the-wall bar."

"You think I'd take you out to a shithole on the first date? And for milkshakes?"

"Hey, acquired taste. I'm pleasantly surprised. Take it as a compliment," you laughed, nudging his arm with your elbow, and he smiled at you.

"If you say so, sweetheart," he hummed, a little more flirtatiously this time. Right. Of course he'd noticed the blush. Would've been hard not to.

"You're still paying."

"I know, I know. Can't go back on a promise."

[thegrunkiest]

For you! I received this from a mutual and am pulling you in on the fun of you haven't received one already!

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you for the ask, Unironically! 😊 My 5 favs:

Blood Brothers - A pro wrestling fic

Despite what it may seem due to my long hiatus, I still consider this fic my baby; I've poured my heart into what is currently public and am enamored still with the plans I have for it. I consider it the closest in quality to a professional work that I've achieved so far. I've learned so much while writing it 💗

2. Feel For You - A TES fic

This is a fic dear to my heart; a concept I had struggled for years to convey in the way I want it to. I'm not a dedicated shipper so to make a work I'm satisfied with about my ultimate OTP makes me happy. I'm also ecstatic by the reception I've received for it!

3. Temper - A Pokémon fic

This is my greatest personal example of a success story with 'pantsing' or writing a fic in one go, with minimal revision. I first wrote this on a tiny notepad! I'm also happy with how I wrote Guzma's character, considering that when I wrote the fic, Pokémon Sun and Moon were fresh and I had yet to play it.

4. No Pain In The Void - A TES fic.

Above all the types of relationships I write for Lucien, the ones closest to me are the familial relationship between him and the Shadowscales, as well as a complex headcanon between Lucien and Mathieu. This is by far my best portrayal of a retrospective of these relationships.

5. Feliz Navi-Dead - A pro wrestling fic

Believe it or not, this fic had me getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time in years. I feel like I captured a perfect blend of emotions, and finally got to explore more of the familial dynamic I headcanon for Gangrel, Luna and Christian. It felt like a true Christmas special.

[paytato435]

Chapter 6: Pink

Early Birds

Casey had only slept about three hours, and when he couldn't stand tossing and turning in bed any longer, he finally gave up. It was useless. The initial worry from the night before had compounded as a new and terrible thought plagued his brain.

How was he supposed to get to the Battle Nexus everyday without the turtles noticing?

Even if they seemed to sleep better than he did, their schedules were more fucked than their apocalyptic counterparts. Because they were part-time ninjas, and because they tried their best to avoid humans in general, they tended to go out at night fairly regularly. But now with school starting for Mikey and Leo, their schedule would have them awake in the day more often. In other words, Casey couldn't guarantee that there wouldn't be someone up and about at any given time wondering where he was. Someone was going to notice he was awol and ask him what he was up to.

Even worse, if he did have a convenient enough excuse, they would wonder when he had gotten the courage to go out by himself. What could possibly motivate him to do that? Casey didn't even want to go out on his own as it was, but he had no choice.

He should have never mentioned Synth to Leo. This was all one big ugly mess.

Casey eventually dragged himself out of bed and maneuvered quietly out of his room to go sit at the kitchen table. He stole a piece of paper from the grocery list notepad and started mapping out his day. Of course, he couldn't write anything incriminating down, so he just had to box down certain points in the day as "free time."

Unfortunately, staring down at the blank spaces turned out to be a fruitless endeavor.. He hadn't any idea what he could do to keep the others off his back. Maybe he'd figure something out after school.

“You’re up early,” Casey nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Raph peeking over his shoulder.

“Holy shit, dude!” 

The snapper backed up and raised his arms apologetically. “Sorry, my bad. Thought ya heard me walk in.”

Casey balled up the paper in his hands. “I really didn’t! What are you doing up?”

Raph shrugged and shuffled drowsily over to the coffee machine. “I’m always up early. S’more peaceful. My breakfast is safer when Leo’s not around.”

Casey snorted. He had a point. On more than one occasion Leo had tripped while trying to wake up in the kitchen. He was a menace to everyone- knocking over cereal bowls, sprawling out on the floor to agonize over the perpetual rising of the sun, pulling things out from the pantry and cupboards only to return them when he changed his mind suddenly or realized they were out of milk too late into his tea, cereal, or even mac and cheese prep.

Yeah, it was probably a good idea to eat before Leo got up. That would get one stressful thing out of the way, at least. He stood up from the table and moved over to join Raph on the other side of the bar, where he pulled down a box of cereal from atop the fridge.

“Are you ready for school today?” Raph asked as he squinted at the coffee machine buttons that were a little too small for his fingers. With little coordination, it took him several jabs of an increasingly frustrated index to get the machine running. When he finally got it going, he leaned his head against the nearest cupboard door.

“Not really,” Casey answered, tilting his head in concern for the big guy. “Doesn’t that have a timed setting so the machine makes it for you in the morning?”

“Depends if Donnie stays up all night,” Raph grunted. “He picked up my pot thirty minutes ago.”

“Oof.”

The two of them milled around in the kitchen for a few quiet minutes more before Casey settled back down in his seat again with a small bowl of flakes. To his surprise, the snapper joined him.

Casey tried to eat his cereal, but the combined nervousness he’d been wrestling with since last night and now the quiet awkwardness in the air made it difficult. Instead, he aimlessly tapped his spoon into the bottom of the bowl, trying to stab poor unfortunate bits of wilting cereal. He missed more often than not.

“Dude,” Casey looked up and saw Raph staring at the bowl as Casey’s spoon dinged the glass for what was perhaps the twelfth time.

“Sorry,” Casey stopped, putting his hands in his lap and staring at the table. He was a little unsure what to do with himself.

“You alright big guy?”

There it was. Raph’s classic big brother concern. It was hard to avoid most days, even though Casey tried his best to. 

“Not really.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

There was something about the way Raph talked to Casey that always made him want to open up. Not just because he made it a habit to ask, but also because he just seemed like the kinda guy you could just cry all your frustrations out onto and he’d take it all in stride. He wouldn’t tease you about it either, which Casey knew Leo and Donnie were far more likely to do. Casey felt uniquely vulnerable to him, especially when he had a lot of things he’d like to cry about right now. Casey wasn’t actually all too used to Raph’s thoughtfulness, and that perhaps contributed to his ability to get Casey to freeze like this.

But that was not something Casey could allow himself to do, right? He had to get through today. He had to be fine.

So he shrugged and forced himself to eat instead. Raph looked a little sad by the rejection, but tried to cover it with another question.

“Whaddya think people would do if they saw me goin to school, too?”

“Do you think they’d be scared of you?” Casey asked, raising an eyebrow.

Now it was Raph’s turn to stare at the table. “Probably, yeah.”

“I dunno how they could be, you’re just about the squishiest person I’ve ever met.”

“Squishy?”

“Uh, yeah, you know…” Casey scratched the back of his head. “Like a big teddy bear.”

The expression on Raph’s face was a little hard to read, but it looked like he was trying his best not to smile.

“I think you’d do great up there if you wanted to,” Casey told him earnestly. “I mean, you go to the cat cafe and talk to Lucy, right?”

“Well yeah, but… wait. Who told you about Lucy?” the snapper squinted his eyes. “It was Mikey wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. He really wants us to go together sometime,” Casey smiled nervously, remembering he wasn’t supposed to tell Raph they had already gone.

“We should go,” Raph nodded, seeming more alert now. “She’s really nice, you’d like her.”

Raph was probably going to tear into Mikey for this when he found out, but Casey didn’t want to be the one to ruin it.

“I’d like that,” he agreed.

“Actually, we could probably go when you get off school if you wanted,” Raph offered. “She’s usually not too busy on Wednesdays.”

“I can’t,” Casey frowned, uncrumpling his paper and looking at his schedule. “April’s making me try out field hockey.”

“Ah, well, it can’t be helped,” Raph shrugged. “Sounds like fun though.”

Casey nodded, but he wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t sure about anything today.

“If you’re worried about school, just remember you’ve overcome a lot worse,” Raph told him. It was clear he was trying to reassure the kid, but it only reminded Casey that things were already a lot worse than him just going to school.

Much, much worse.

-

And yet somehow, Casey still felt utterly lost and helpless upon actually getting to school only a few short hours later. It was about as bad as Casey had imagined. He had thought he had at least gotten used to big crowds, but as it turned out, he'd never really been in a school-hallway-minutes-before-class kind of crowd.

As soon as he walked in he was hit with just how many people were crammed into such a small space. People were standing shoulder to shoulder, others weaving between each other like they’d done this their whole lives. The noise was unbearable. This was a bad idea.

“Guys I don’t think I can do this,” he said to nobody, because when he turned his head Leo and Mikey had already shuffled to the other side of the hallway. Leo waved for him to join them, but Casey just kinda froze. His eyes darted from one stranger’s face to the next. He hadn’t so much as tried to take a step before he saw Mikey squeeze up next to him and grab his hand.

“Come on Future Boy, we got places to be.”

 He’d never been pushed around so much. Mikey was his lifeline as they slowly made their way across the school. He vaguely remembered April telling him that his advisory class was up on the third floor, but thankfully Mikey knew how to get there.

The stairs were similarly crowded. At least here people had the sense to go up one side and down the other, but the stairway was so narrow that they had to go up single file. When he couldn't hold his hand, Casey grabbed the back of Mikey's bag instead. He kept his eyes straight ahead the whole time. His heart was pounding.

And class hadn't even started yet.

Somehow they made it to their room. Casey took the closest seat to the door and immediately opened his bag as Mikey sat down next to him. He dug out his class schedule and the map of the building and began memorizing the room numbers. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this sooner. 303, 107, 405, 201… 

“You good Casey?” he jumped in his seat.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he lied. Well, he was trying not to lie about it. He wanted to be ok. He could handle this.

“Do you want me to walk with you to your other classes too?” Casey only had this one class in common with Mikey. After this he’d be on his own. He felt like his stomach was going to turn inside out.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Casey admitted, hugging his bag.

The good news was that advisory turned out to be very boring. There was roll call, the teacher struggled with the projector for twenty minutes and missed morning announcements, and then the bell rang for his next class.

He had had plenty of time to calm down.

The bad news was that the journey to his second class was just as bad as the first. And this time, as he was going down the stairs, he tripped over his own shoes and fell down the last three stairs, knocking Mikey down with him.

"Shit!"

"Language!" called out a teacher from down the hall who was too busy walking to notice why Casey was swearing.

The kids in the hallway didn't even acknowledge him either as he scrambled back up and adjusted his bag.

But someone did acknowledge Mikey. As he was trying to stand up, some asshole knocked into him again.

"Oops, sorry freak!" he shouted back as he took the stairs.

"Who you calling a freak, lemon head?" Mikey snapped back, picking up his backpack.

The poor kid did have an unfortunately shaped head. But he didn't engage. In fact, nobody seemed to care about the lemon head. Instead, Casey noticed people were giving Mikey a wide berth.

It was the first time Casey noticed that Mikey stood out like a sore thumb. There hadn't been any yokai in advisory. He might have seen one on the way in, but he was too panicked to remember much. Looking around, he thought he would see more, but he didn't. He had completely forgotten that maybe the students in school weren't exactly used to them yet. Well, Mikey and Leo. What they didn't know about Casey couldn't hurt him.

He didn't know why, but seeing some asshole push Mikey over snapped Casey into action mode. He pulled out the school map again and noted where he was going on the first floor.

"Mikey I'm going to walk with you to your class," he said with a tone halfway between pissed and concerned.

"But-"

"I'll be fine."

"I don't need help," Mikey bristled.

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about them," Casey pointed out, taking Mikey's hand again. "April said no fighting. That means avoiding confrontation."

Mikey narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "My class is this way," he pointed, leading Casey to the left. "We better hurry though or we're going to be late."

-

So Leo had tried his best to look like the stares weren't getting to him, but he was still surprised to see that so many were openly scowling at him.

They had to be joking; he was in the news! He saved New York! It seemed some people missed the memo; what a town.

He made his way to Geometry and realized that most of the kids in that class were a year or two younger than him. That was a little embarrassing. Even more so when the teacher asked them to draw a plane with four points and Leo realized he hadn't meant an airplane with teeth. He had wondered what teeth had to do with math.

He wished Donnie were here to help.

People didn’t seem to laugh at his jokes either, or at least couldn’t tell when he was kidding or not, because nobody so much as tried to hide a smile whenever he spoke up. After asking for help for the fifth time on his assignment, he caught the Geometry teacher rolling his eyes. That wasn’t a great sign, either.

At last, the bell rang, and Leo fled from Geometry like a rat from a cat. He hoped the whole day wouldn’t go like this. He sprinted up stairs to the second floor, but slowed when he saw a group of kids all congregated at the top. He put on his best smile and asked to be excused so he could squeeze by them, but they didn’t move.

They all looked at him and then continued on with their conversation as if he wasn’t there.

“Hey, move it!” a kid behind him called. Leo looked behind him and saw a small kid in a black sweatshirt push past him. The group moved out of his way easily, and then immediately spread back out again to obstruct Leo's access.

“Oh come on!” Leo groaned. This was stupid. He jumped up onto the rail and over the group, giving them each a smug grin as he did so. They couldn’t help but look at him now as he soared gracefully over their heads. “Can’t keep a good guy down,” he winked back at them before continuing on. What was wrong with those guys?

Ok, he probably didn’t have to wonder about it much. He knew exactly why he was being treated this way. He’d watched enough movies to know people hated different people. Especially monsters and aliens, which he might as well be to them.

As it turned out, most of Leo’s classes were much the same as the first. He didn’t know shit. All he had was his gorgeous handwriting and the persistence to keep trying. He’d never felt so stupid in his life. He knew he probably wasn’t the smartest guy in the world, but damn. Everything that was brought up was completely foreign to him. At least in Government class all he had to do was sit and listen. He took furious notes on everything the teacher said. He’d probably have to read it again half a dozen more times before it got through his head.

God he hoped Casey and Mikey didn’t feel like this.

-

Pink

Faster than expected, the rest of the school day came and went. After the second period, Casey had managed to make his way around the school by just pretending everyone around him were just more obstacles to climb over. He didn’t try to talk to anyone, he just treated school like a mission. Get from one place to the next, listen, observe, take notes as needed, and get out. It was just recon; he could do that, at least.

On the other hand, Casey noticed there was a lot of attention on the few yokai and mutants he did spot, despite their attempts to blend in. Not a single one spoke up in his classes, they all sat together at lunch, and the human students couldn’t help but stare and gossip whenever they had a free moment. The atmosphere was tense, to say the least. It made Casey scratch his ankle with his shoe nervously as he ate.

After classes, April recommended Casey try out the field hockey team. Why not? It sounded fun, and it wasn’t as if he had sixteen years of education to catch up on that would significantly cut into his time outside of school, right?

Casey had brought a change of clothes, but wasn't ultimately sure where to go or where to change. Instead he just went out onto the field. The coaches and players were already out there, warming up. Casey was quick to notice that the team was made up of exclusively human players.

"Excuse me?" Casey approached the nearest adult: A tall woman with broad shoulders and cropped brown hair. She had just finished shouting at the players in front of her to start warm ups. She looked down at Casey expectantly.

"I'm here to join the field hockey team."

"Oh are ya?"

"Uh, yes, please?" The coach did not look impressed.

"In those clothes?"

"I- I can change." she blew her whistle. It was loud and made Casey wince in discomfort.

"Crale, get over here!"  A tall kid with warm brown eyes and sandy hair pulled back into a loose braid shuffled over. "What's your name, kid?"

"It's Casey, Casey Jones."

"Jones, this is Gavin Crale. I'm Coach Dennis. He'll show you where the lockers are. Crale, get him a hair tie too if he needs one, that's not gonna fly." she gestured at Casey's loose hair.

-

"You're that kid from the news, aren't you?" Gavin asked when they reached the locker rooms.

"From the news?" Casey asked suspiciously. He didn’t remember his face being on the news.

"When the aliens attacked. You're kinda hard to miss."

"Well, you're the first one to notice, actually," Casey shrugged, trying to play it casual.

"Most people probably don't see the hockey mask in your bag."

Casey snapped his head back to see that in fact, his mask was sticking out.

"Have you even played field hockey before? Your methods downtown weren't exactly consistent with the rules." Casey figured he must have seen the footage of him online.

“Nope.” He wished Gavin wouldn’t talk about it anymore, but it seemed an alien invasion that Casey was directly involved in was probably too interesting a subject for the perfectly normal teenager to ignore.

“You were with those green guys too, right? I think one of them is in my biology class.”

“They’re turtles,” Casey huffed. “Did you get the short one or the… striped one?” Casey wasn’t sure how to describe Leo to someone in just one word.

“The loud one.”

Casey wheezed.

“What?”

Casey struggled to keep a straight face. “They’re both loud,” Casey explained. “But one of them is taller with red stripes going down his face…”

“That’s him!” Gavin pointed to Casey in understanding. “He kept asking the teacher a bunch of weird questions.”

“Oh boy, what did he say?” Casey raised his eyebrows, a little amused now.

“There were so many questions,” Gavin sighed. “And none of them were like, genuine, by the way, the first question out of his mouth was if he should categorize himself as a mammal or a reptile on his worksheet, which was not even a question to begin with. He also wondered if the curriculum would be amended to include mutants and yokai, and was… very upset to find out it was not. Like, he clutched his hand to his chest and looked like he was going to fall over. Then he… cried about how the system was exclusive, unjust, and unable to accommodate the needs of the new and diverse student body.”

Casey nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“He was sent to the office to address his complaints in ‘a more appropriate environment,’” Gavin rolled his eyes and threw up air quotes.

“Would you dissect him for me? I heard that's a thing in that class."

Gavin snorted.

"I might. Nobody wanted to be his lab partner. He’s very…”

“Oh I know, you don’t have to explain,” Casey laughed. “You’ll get used to him.”

They sat in awkward silence for a minute, before Gavin found something else to talk about.

"I'm really glad you're trying out for the team. We've lost a lot of people since last season."

"What happened?" Casey asked, tightening his cleats.

“Some kids left town because of… the whole yokai situation. I think it's mostly just the parents who were scared out of their minds, but some of the kids on the team feel like it’d be unfair if yokai students filled in the gaps. I think the… uh… yokai… feel that resentment.”

“Resentment…” Casey wasn’t sure what this kid thought about this whole situation, but he sure seemed hyper-aware of it.

Gavin looked down at his shoes.

"Jones, I'm not gonna lie, this is all batshit crazy."

"You don't even know half of it." 

Gavin shrugged as if he could somehow make the situation normal by just pretending it was.

"In field hockey, you don't raise the stick over your head, and you definitely don't mod your stick with a chainsaw blade."

"Fair enough."

"And don't just go crashing into anybody you see on the field, we have some girls playing with us."

"What does that mean?"

Gavin scratched his head. "Well, you know, you wouldn't want to beat up a girl, right?"

"About as much as I'd beat up anyone else?"

"Oh, uh, I guess not." Casey was confused, but Gavin looked embarrassed.

"I'm ready," Casey stood, stretching his back from being hunched over.

"Zip up your bag too. The others would probably give you hell for that," Gavin warned, pointing at the mask again.

That was probably a good idea.

"Oh, and don't forget to pull your hair back. Do you need a hair tie?"

"Crap, yeah," Casey remembered, running his hands through his hair. Gavin pulled an elastic from his bag and handed it to Casey.

"This is a hair tie?" Casey asked, rolling it between his fingers, dumbfounded.

"Uh yeah, how do you tie your hair back? Rat tails?"

Casey tried his hardest not to think of how nasty that would be. "With like… a ribbon… if I need to. I don't use them often."

"Good grief. Have you ever used a rubber band?"

"No."

"Give me it back. I'll do it for you, we don't have time." 

Casey handed the band to Gavin and the boy moved to stand behind him. The hairs on the back of Casey's neck rose up as Gavin pulled his hair back away from his face. Casey tensed. He couldn’t see Gavin from this angle, and nobody else had touched his hair in years. Not since he was a kid, when Master Michelangelo taught him how to tie it back. Now this stranger was dragging his fingers across Casey’s scalp, and every nerve in his body screamed that he was in danger.

The experience was both very nostalgic and deeply alarming. He couldn’t tell if he was about to cry or kick the supposed threat off of him. He had to make a conscious effort to do neither, and instead did his best to count the linoleum tiles on the floor under them.

When Gavin tightened the ponytail, Casey jumped.

"Ah! Shit man, are you alright?"

Casey kept his eyes glued to the floor.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Let's get going."

When Gavin and Casey returned to the field, the players were setting up to scrimmage. Coach Dennis had Casey sit out for the first few minutes to watch and learn the rules, and then threw him out onto the field.

Field hockey was exhilarating. He didn't notice it so much while he was inside, but his muscles had been begging to get this exercise. Casey and his teammates quickly realized he was significantly faster on his feet than anticipated, as he made his way back and forth down the field. When he had the ball, hardly anyone could keep up. 

Hardly anyone except for her.

On the opposing team was a girl with a nose ring and raven black hair tied back into pigtails. A bright violet streak of hair in her bangs screamed to get anyone and everyone's attention. And she probably deserved it. She was good. Like, really good. 

The first few times Casey got the ball he quickly outpaced her and even managed to score once, but after about the third time cutting past her he found he could not lose her. Had she sped up? Was she predicting where he'd go? She never let up and was always right on his heels until-

Whack.

He lost possession of the ball. Looking around him he saw the girl had sniped it from him. He hadn't even seen her coming this time. By the time he had recovered, she was already long gone.

"So you've had your first run in with Angel," Gavin prodded as the team took a water break.

"That fast girl?" Casey looked downfield and noticed she'd actually been looking in his direction. As soon as she caught his glance, she started walking toward him. She looked like she'd just eaten a sour grape.

"Oh you are in trouble now," Gavin smiled, stepping away.

"Hey, new kid. Had enough yet?" Oh geez, she was mad already? He just got here.

"Uh, no?"

"No? Some nerve you got. What's your name?"

"Casey Jones."

Angel took a step closer, getting right into his face.

"Listen up, Jones. You're a shit forward and your awareness is trash. If you don't pay attention you're gonna get mowed over."

"Uh, thanks?" He was having trouble focusing on what she said; how did she smell so sweetly of bubblegum when she wasn’t chewing any? And in the middle of practice???

"You're welcome. Pay attention. I don't play nice with pink fucks like you."

"Pink?" He blinked in surprise.

"Your whole vibe is neon pink.” She twirled her hand before returning it to her hockey stick. “It's off putting." Casey froze. Angel had just correctly deduced his life color. Not even Mikey could...

"Do you have synesthesia?" Casey asked, earnestly.

Angel snorted.

"If you aren't here to play with all you got, go home. I can tell when people aren't trying. You're wasting space."

Angel turned back and headed onto the field, bouncing on the balls of her feet when she’d settled down.

"That was awful," Casey muttered to himself.

"She thinks you're a threat," Gavin smiled. "She's going to be."

"Why?"

Gavin shrugged.

“Her friend used to be on the team. She was really good too.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She’s dead.” Gavin said it like he was trying to convince Casey it was true. Most people wouldn’t be that explicit.

“She’s dead?” Casey looked back at Angel. She looked closer to beating someone up than breaking down. He felt that way sometimes too.

“Might as well be. Missing persons rarely show back up alive.”

Yikes.

After that, Casey couldn't keep up at all with Angel anymore, although everyone said he did very well. Despite the animosity, Casey couldn’t help but notice everyone else seemed to get along very well with the girl. It seemed he was her only target.

-

"Hey Angel, wait up!" The girl with the purple hair spun around to face him with a dangerous scowl. Ok, maybe not dangerous dangerous… Casey knew the difference between a scowl that preceded chastising and a scowl that preceded losing a limb. Angel definitely gave off the former, although he wouldn't be surprised if she was also capable of the latter.

"Whaddya want, Pink Fuck?"

There it was again. It had frustrated him for maybe a moment, but after thinking about it for a little longer and seeing how Angel treated the others on the team, Casey quickly picked through Angel's facade.

She was the only one at practice that was openly abrasive. He was the only one she had been abrasive to. Every joke she had made today had seemed to come at his expense.

The pout on her face and posture were over exaggerated. Before he called over to her, she had been talking with two of her friends, who now shared an exchange between themselves that Casey had traded with Michelangelo on too many occasions in the future. All three of them could see what Angel was doing:

She was the textbook definition of a tsundere. And Casey would know; he had the unfortunate experience of listening to his sensei with painful disinterest as the slider complained and insulted his way into eventually asking another one of his dozens of boyfriends out. Once Michelangelo had pointed the behavior out, Casey realized what a broken record Leonardo was. (He was infinitely thankful that Leo in this timeline hadn't started dating yet. There was no closing Pandora's box.)

Casey wondered if Angel was even aware of her behavior. Was she trying to scare him because she didn't know how to hide her feelings any other way? Or was it a habit of hers to poke fun at people she was interested in just in general? Either way, Casey felt confident he could use it to his advantage.

Ok, that probably sounded bad. If it made things any better, he kinda liked the attention.

"Yeah it's me, the pink one," he answered, raising his arms in surrender. He shared an apologetic smile with the students standing with her. "Could I talk to you for a minute? I need some help with something."

"You might be beyond help, Pink," she snorted, crossing her arms defensively. 

"Maybe," he acknowledged, which only made her snort again. "But uh, you're in my history class aren't you?" He remembered seeing her sit at the very back of the room, her feet kicked up on her desk and giving him a vicious glare even then.

"Yeah? Whattabout it?"

"Do you, uh… think you could help me with that assignment the teacher gave us? I was looking over the questions and I was completely stumped.”

"What?" She seemed completely taken aback by his question.

"Could you help me with the homework?" he asked again, not sure how else he could explain it.

Angel's eyes darted around the campus for a moment, thinking really hard very suddenly. 

"Uh…"

"It's ok if you don't want to, I could ask someone else, I just don't really know anyone here yet so…"

"No no! I can help you!" she protested immediately; probably too quickly. "Do you wanna go to the library or something? The public one's not far from here."

"Uh, yeah! Yeah that could work!" he agreed with his best smile. He noticed her lips quirk in just the tiniest fraction of a smile before she narrowed her eyes.

"If you're joining the team you gotta have good grades," she told him pointedly. "If you're too stupid they'll kick you off the team, got it?"

Casey swallowed and nodded. He didn't know that.

"You're lucky I love this team so much, punk. Purple Dragons gotta stick together, ya hear?"

That was a load of crap, but Casey agreed anyway. "Uh, yeah, I guess.. "

"Don't 'uh… I guess…' me! Do you want my help or not?"

Casey couldn't help but chuckle. Her face twitched dangerously. She looked like she was about to ask him if he wanted to die.

"Your laugh is stupid," she said instead, pulling out her phone from her duffel bag. "I'm gonna text my brother that I'll be home late. But he's actually cooking for once so we can't be out too late."

Casey felt as if the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. Finally, something was going right for once.

"I guess we'll see you tomorrow, Angel?" one of her friends asked. Angel blinked and turned back to them, as if she had forgotten they were there.

"Oh, yeah! Sorry guys…"

"No no, it's fine!" the friend assured her. "Go have fun," he winked before turning away.

"Go have… ugh!" Angel stamped her foot. "That guy, I swear…"

-

Angel seemed to have rebuilt her facade while she was changing out of her athletic clothes, because she seemed particularly and purposefully cool to anything Casey tried to say on the walk over to the library. She had put herself entirely on guard. It was a little awkward, but not completely surprising. She had, after all, suddenly found herself on a study date with a strange (BEYOND STRANGE) boy she had just met today.

"So how far do you live from the school?"

"Why? So you can stalk me?" Angel asked with another scowl.

"Yeesh, it was just a question," he scratched the back of his neck.

"Try a better one," she rolled her eyes, but there was little humor there.

"Ok… what's your brother like?"

"Why do you keep asking personal questions?!" she snapped. "You're weirding me out."

Oops. What was he supposed to ask her?

"Where'd you move from?" Angel asked him instead.

"Wait what?" He couldn't ask about her living situation but she could ask him about his? Not to mention there was no way he could answer THAT particular question.

"Where'ya from ding-dong?" she asked again, squinting one eye at him.

"I uh…"

"Not so fun being on the spot, huh?" she noticed, stepping ahead of him as they walked.

"What? No, it's fine I just-"

She spun around and stopped in front of him. He had to stop too suddenly to avoid bumping into her.

"Just what?" she smiled at him.

She was trying to intimidate him.

"I grew up here," Casey told her. It was kinda true. His New York was just a little more… dusty… and dead… and filled with monsters…

"Uhuh," Angel said without belief. He was surprised that she didn't pry further, but instead turned around and kept walking, letting him catch up to her stride.

"So did you grow up here?"

"Yeah," was her only answer for a moment, before adding; "I wasn't born here though. My parents are from Florida."

"Oh really? I heard it's really nice there." Casey had actually heard so many things about places like Florida in the past, where the weather was nice all year round and the beaches were beautiful. Casey had never been on the beach before. Of course they could still go to a beach much closer to New York than Florida, but it hadn't come up in conversation yet from the younger turtles. Maybe they could go before the weather turned.

"It's a shithole, don't go," she glowered.

"Oh." She seemed pretty good at killing a vibe. At least they had something in common.

They approached the library and Casey realized that even though he didn't feel exactly comfortable hanging out with Angel, he had made it all the way from school to the library without being jumpscared by an automobile. In fact, he hadn't been stressed by the usual traffic at all. It was only when they stepped into such a quiet space as the library that he noticed how loud the outside world was, and how it was starting to bother him just a little bit less.

Or he was distracted by trying to engage in a conversation with Angel. OR he was too worried about his family discovering that he was a turtle and that it was Donnie's fault and Leo never forgave-him-for-that-ergo-Casey-had-to-keep-them-safe-by-neverfiguringoutwhathewas. Ugh. Yeah, Casey had bigger problems than big and scary traffic noises.

Casey followed Angel to the back of the library, in which they found large desks surrounded by rows and rows of massive bookshelves. It made the shelves at school look empty, and it made the small handful of books Casey had seen in the past look downright depressing by comparison.

Until Casey had arrived into the past, he had read every physical book he had ever seen. Master Leonardo had made him, so he did. All six of them. There were rumors that there was a secret seventh book that Donatello hid from everyone, but by the time Casey knew of it he had little reason to dare seek it out. If he had to guess though, it was probably just smut. Donatello never made a habit of hoarding his knowledge for himself.

"You gonna sit down or…?" Casey snapped to attention when he saw Angel had already sat down at a table, her duffel bag on the polished wood surface as she hugged it to her chest.

Casey did not realize he had been looking around so long. He grabbed a chair and sat down quietly, all too conscious of his awkward and stumbling attempt to scoot himself and the chair under the table.

"You got your textbook right? I left mine in my locker."

"What?" Casey had been trying to figure out what to do with his hands. Funnily enough he hadn’t paid it that much attention when he had been sitting in class.

Angel gave him an irritated look. “Your textbook?”

"Oh yeah, I have it," Casey stumbled, opening his bag and pulling out their textbook. He needed to focus or she was going to think something was up.

She was probably already thinking something was up anyway.

As it turned out, Casey was probably far more hopeless a case than Angel had imagined. Growing up in the apocalypse did not afford him the time to learn whatever or wherever Mesopotamia was supposed to be.

"Jesus Christ, Jones, where the fuck did you go to school before?"

Casey slumped over the table. He knew it was only a matter of time before she asked.

"I was homeschooled."

"I'm surprised you can read," Angel scoffed, crossing her arms. He looked up at her, and her face changed to one of concern. "Well, I'm exaggerating a little," she admitted, looking over at his notes. “Are you alright with your other classes?”

Casey shrugged. “It’s been one day, the others haven’t given out assignments. Math was easy though.”

Angel made a face.

“Don’t like math?” he asked.

“It’s awful. If I have to do anything more than graph a line my brain starts turning somersaults.”

“Maybe I could help you with it sometime,” Casey prodded, giving a small smile.

“I don’t think you’ll have time with this whole situation going on,” Angel waved her hand over his homework. Casey’s smile disappeared. “It’s like you’ve been living under a rock. Do you even know who the President is?”

“I plead the fifth,” he shifted nervously in his seat.

“And what is the fifth?” She asked, checking her phone and propping her feet up onto the table.

“It’s probably better than pleading the fourth?” He turned his palms up to the ceiling in defeat.

Angel burst out laughing, the sudden sound turning heads and catching glares in the otherwise studious environment. Casey sank further into his seat, his ears burning. If he went any further down his nose was going to hit the table. Upon seeing him sink, Angel sighed and rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to need a lot of help, Pink,” she told him, pinching her eyebrow. He nodded, a little embarrassed, even if this was exactly what he was hoping she’d say. “Do you want to work on this some more tomorrow? I’m getting a bit hungry.”

Another perfect excuse for his absences from home. “Sure. My head hurts anyway.”

“Don’t know how it could when there’s nothing up there,” she teased, giving a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up,” Casey grumbled, closing his book. “At least I know how to tie my shoes.”

“I know how to tie them!” Angel scoffed, shaking her sneakers so the aglets clacked against the table. “I left them undone on purpose.”

“What if you trip and fall?”

Angel narrowed her eyes and uncrossed her legs. “If it bothers you so much why not tie them for me?”

“Pft, I’m not your mom,” Casey scoffed in turn, putting his book into his bag. When he reached back up for his notebook however, Angel had pinned it down with one of her shoes.

“Damn right you’re not,” she scrunched up her nose.

“What are you doing?” Casey asked, appearing unamused. Angel cracked a wide grin.

“They look cuter this way,” she insisted.

“Uhuh, sure,” he conceded with heavy sarcasm. Thankfully that seemed to be enough for Angel to release her hostage.

This girl was insane.

Prev. Masterpost Next

Notes: I have rewritten so much of this heckin' chapter that the only thing that's original is Angel calling Casey a shit forward and Pink Fuck. It was the only important part anyway, lol. Anyway, the big result of the rewrite and break this week is MORE ANGEL. She is very fun to write. She is a menace and will continue to bully Casey for absolutely no reason whatsoever. So why did I add her to the fic? She was my favorite character in the 03 series when I was little; I thought she was so cool. I'd only seen like, the first 12 episodes tho so my only point of reference for her character for the longest time was "Fallen Angel." She's a total brat and I love her. She will always pick on Casey Jones because she can. I hope you love my Rise version of her as much as I do!

Also I think I got the field hockey idea from Mutant Ninja Midlife Crisis. It definitely makes more sense for Casey to play field hockey over ice hockey like he usually does given his backstory. I can't imagine they had many ice rinks in the apocalypse, so I think him getting into ice hockey at this point would be quite the learning curve.

Also also I would fucking scream if anyone saw Casey's classroom numbers and could recognize what they mean. Hint: They're referencing a different sport altogether.

[beyondthebackup]

[a lonely lavender envelope, petite as a greeting card stuck in a bouquet of flowers, is tucked in the tight metal facets of B's desk. Contained within is a note:]

" If we shared this class, I could stare you down like a showdown at sunset, prying apart the tiny movements of your body, hold your gaze with mine until our breath fell in sync but I would never manage it, your touch obscures my vision. But you could wrap your fingers around my throat and squeeze tight like the handles of your first bike, rocking with my frame. Make me feel thoroughly used, thoroughly controlled, thoroughly loved ~ ♡ "

B collapses into the same desk he's sat in every day for the past year in this class,

Advanced Deception and Disguise.

It's a small class. These personalized curriculums meant that even one-on-one tutoring for certain subjects was common when deemed beneficial, at least for the higher ranking students.

Like art, this is a class he enters without the white noise of a familiar voice, a pair of attentive eyes, a body to mold himself around.

Though he excels at this subject Wammy's did not see fit to train A or Obelus in, he finds the class itself boring.

Backup nearly misses his gift entirely.

It peeks out at him, delicate against the depressing browns and greys of institutional wood and metal.

Like passing love notes in a prison.

Teasing out and unfolding the note in his lap, he reads it and the spark of something comes, flickering,

excitement.

B scans the room despite the note. These kids in particular, of course, are currently training to lie and suppress their tells - but even so, he finds their involvement unlikely. This class is intense, the professor is demanding, and everyone is focused...

Usually.

Now, B focuses carefully on the handwriting, following the soft curves of every letter and judging them against images of paper in his mind...

Obelus's notepad.

Umbral's scripts.

Yoriko's guide to mushrooms.

A's textbooks, the notes in the margins ...

Hah, as if he would ever write something like this.

Coward.

What strikes B the most, even after considering that the note could be a prank or meant for someone else, was how...

Tailored it felt.

Certainly, not everyone would enjoy being spoken to in this way. It's not very subtle, it's physical, violent, yet somehow still yielding.

Like play wrestling.

All that, but the note smells like honeysuckle,

Decidedly soft.

His first bike was that petulant little boy,

Goody two-shoes, prim and proper.

B smashed A into a tree, and he hasn't been right in the head since.

He learned years ago that most people don't necessarily like to be used or controlled,

at least not out loud.

But they sure do like to be loved.

...It's no use. This doesn't look like anyone's handwriting, at least not based on the memories he can visualize clearly right now.

It just doesn't make sense. He hasn't been playing anyone lately.

It has to be someone who knows something about him,

No one is this presumptuous, right?

It would be cute if they were.

Maybe they're just bold.

That would be cute, too.

"Backup."

B shoots the instructor a hot glare and discreetly tucks the envelope away in his pocket.

[Lavender Note]

[Pink Note]

[Blue Note]

[terrifyingly-bi]

Fool for You (Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader) (Part 1)

Summary: You've never been one to be pushed around. When you work at Hawkin's Public Pool during summer break you're paired up with Billy for your shifts, and Billy just met his match.

Warnings/tags: flirty reader, confident reader, billy starts out as rough and tough but I've got a thing for softies so... we'll get there

Wordcount: ~2,2k

A/N: You wanted some Billy x Fem!Reader and I once again got carried away. Idk how many parts this will be... I'm sitting on about four or five... uh... :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

『••✎••』

“And this is where you’ll be spending most of your time,” Adam said, gesturing to the small booth. “We’ve got at least two lifeguards out by the pools at all times, if one of them needs to step away, you will take over for them until they return. Otherwise, this is your hub.”

You nodded as you took a look around the tiny room. It reminded you of a ticket booth but pool-themed. On the only wall available hung a calendar with pictures of the beach, as well as a schedule for the lifeguards. There were seven in total, including you.

“Cool,” you said. “And do I need to keep my eyes out for anything in particular or…”

Adam shrugged. “Not really. You’ll be standing by most of the time. If any visitors have any questions or need equipment, directions, or help you’ll be in charge of taking care of them.” He pointed to the notepad on the tiny desk. “Any pool equipment or swimming aids you lend out must be recorded, so that we can keep track of them when they’re lent out and returned.”

“Write up the things I hand out and what I get back, got it,” you said. “Anything else?”

“First Aid Kit is in the box under the desk and there’s a phone in the office with a phonebook right next to it. Other than that, you should be all set.”

You doubted that, but you weren’t about to start fussing on your first day. “So do I just… go change or what?”

Adam turned and pointed over to the changing rooms. “You can just use the women’s to change. Head back here once you’re done and I’ll introduce you to your shift mate.”

With a nod, you began making your way around the pool to go and change. The brilliantly red swimsuit you’d been given to wear bore the Hawkins Pool logo, and you wondered if you’d look as good in it as some of the lifeguards you’d seen so far. 

The changing room was mostly empty with the exception of a handful of girls gossiping and queuing for the mirror and a mother trying to wrestle her kid into a swimsuit. It smelled like chlorine, soap and sun lotion, and by the time you had squeezed into your new suit and made to leave you were alone.

You hesitated briefly when you passed the mirror. The Hawkins Pool suit fitted decently. It could have been a little bigger in the bottom area but you were confident enough that you would endure it. From the right angle, it even looked good.

When you returned to the booth, Adam had called another lifeguard over. 

“You’re back, good,” Adam said. “This is Billy, and you already know me. Billy, this is Y/N.” 

‘Billy’ was tall, muscular, and looked like a Californian dream. He stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest and looked you up and down, wearing a pair of dark aviators and a somewhat disdainful look on his face. “Yes, we’re happy to have you here,” he mumbled. “But unless there’s anything you specifically need me for, I’ve got things to do.”

You shook your head. “You do what you need to do,” you said. “You’re a lifeguard after all.”

The sneer on his face turned neutral and he gave you a quick nod before he turned and headed back to the tower, climbing up and taking a seat.

“He takes his job very seriously,” Adam said, leaning closer to you. “Don’t let him push you around. He is not your boss.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said. “I’m not going to let him.”

-

It didn’t take you long to learn that whenever Billy was at the pool, things were running like a well-oiled machine. It was mind-boggling to see how kids you knew from school turned into law-abiding visitors the moment Billy told them off, and it was difficult to miss the way people were particularly wary when they walked in his vicinity. 

If you had to pick something to complain about it would be the number of girls coming up to you only to try and get a peek at the schedule on the wall behind you. Billy was popular with the ladies, and it was hardly a secret. Even the mothers put on a show for him whenever he looked their way.

You didn’t see the point. Obviously, he was handsome and you caught yourself looking longer than a few seconds a handful of times, but he was rude and never said hello when he passed you by. It wasn’t like you were going to waste your time on someone that couldn’t bother to say hi.

At least, that’s what you thought until a particularly unrelenting heatwave passed through Hawkins. The pool was filled to the brim with people trying to cool off and you spent a considerable amount of time handing out water bottles and helping out a few people that had burned themselves in the sun.

But while you spent most of the day in the shade of the tiny booth, you couldn’t help but notice that Billy sat dutifully perched in the lifeguard tower, glaring out over the pool and the visitors - on the lookout for trouble. 

With a sigh, you grabbed one of the water bottles you kept in the cooler crammed under the desk, and headed over. “Hey, Hargrove,” you called when you approached.

He looked over at you just in time to catch the bottle when you tossed it to him. “What’s up?” He asked.

“You haven’t had anything to drink all day,” you said. “I would prefer it if you didn’t fall off that tower when something happens.”

Billy looked at you for a moment before he looked back to the pool. “Thanks,” he said, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink of water. You could tell by the way he went through half the bottle in a few greedy sips that he must have been thirsty.

“You gonna take a break any time soon?” You asked. “Maybe get out of the sun?”

“To slack off? Is that what you’re trying to get me to do?” he asked without looking at you.

You rolled your eyes. “No, I’m trying to make sure you don’t get a heatstroke so you can keep doing your job.”

Again, Billy turned and looked at you. For a moment, he seemed to be contemplating your words. “Five minutes,” he said. “I need to take a leak anyway.” He tossed the bottle back to you as he began climbing down from the tower. “You figure you can hold the reins until I get back?”

“Don’t worry about me, Billy,” you said and handed him his drink. “I can hold them just fine.” You turned and climbed up into the tower, seating yourself in the surprisingly comfortable seat. When you looked down, Billy was still looking at you. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

“I just might,” he said, a lazy smirk playing on his lips before he turned and walked away.

-

"Got ourselves a cut." 

You looked up from the notepad as Billy appeared in the doorway, holding a girl in his arms. Looking between them, it was almost comical how indifferent Billy looked while the girl was making heart eyes at him. But upon closer inspection, she did have a pretty nasty cut on her foot. 

"Damn, let me get the kit," you said and got up. "She can take my chair."

Billy put the girl down on the chair with minimal effort. "What did you say you cut yourself on?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure. I stepped on something sharp over by the fence, I was just grabbing my bag," she said. She blinked at him, her lashes fluttering as he inspected her injury. 

"Over by the fence?" Billy asked. He either didn’t notice or care for her ogling. Instead, he looked over at you. "Hey, Y/N. Can you treat this while I go and have a look?" he asked. 

You could tell that anyone but Billy treating the girl's cut would ruin her day. The way she deflated made you feel bad for her. "Uh… why don't you help her out and I go and take a look? I need to double-check on the back gates anyway," you offered. It was technically true, only that you usually did that at the end of your shift. "I need to go and get another pack of gauze from the office as well, but we should have enough for now." 

Billy looked skeptical as you handed the First Aid kit to him. "You sure?" 

"Yeah. Put those pretty hands to use and I'll be right back," you said and winked as you slipped out of the booth, leaving him with the eager visitor. 

It was almost the weekend and you figured you could give that girl something to swoon about. It was a surefire way to keep the girl - and all of her friends - coming back. 

The area by the fence was mostly covered with dry grass. Some people preferred to leave their things there or spread a towel out where they could enjoy the sunshine. You started by the concrete and followed the fence around the perimeter, and just like the girl had said, you found the culprit of the cut; a piece of aluminum from a soda can. After looking around you found the rest of the cam and discarded it in the nearest trash can. 

You took your time as you went back, stopping to help a kid that struggled with a pair of goggles, and walking a full lap around the pool before you went about your other tasks.

By the time you returned to the booth - after having made a quick trip to the office for supplies - Billy had sent the girl on her way and returned to his spot atop the tower. You gave a slight wave as he looked your way, making sure he knew that you were back where you were supposed to be. 

He nodded at you from where he sat before he returned to his lifeguarding duties. 

The rest of the day was dull and uneventful. At the end of your shift, you counted the swimming aids, checked the lost and found, and walked around the pool to make sure everything was in order before you went to change. 

You were usually one of the last people out of there - with the exception of the pool manager and sometimes Adam - but when you exited the changing room that night, you spotted Billy on his way out to the parking lot. He looked your way when you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. 

"Heading home?" he asked. 

"That's what I usually do after work," you said. 

"Need a ride?" 

That was an offer you hadn't expected. While you got along well enough, you would hardly call the two of you friends. But you appreciated the fact that he'd offered and that he made an effort to be nice. 

"Sure," you replied with an easy smile. "What's the occasion?" 

Billy snorted when he walked you to his car. "I can't be nice just for the hell of it?" He unlocked the car and gestured for you to get in. 

You chuckled and got into the passenger's seat. "We both know you're not nice. Either you think you owe me a favor, or you're trying to impress me." 

"Maybe so," Billy said as he slid into the driver's seat, closing the door with a huff. 

You caught a glimpse of his bulging bicep when he pulled the door closed. It was a pleasant sight and you had since long given up on trying not to ogle. "So which is it?" you asked. 

The car roared to life when he turned the key in the ignition. Stepping on the gas, he revved the engine, it purred pleasantly. He took his aviators off and put them in the pocket of his shirt before he turned and smiled at you. "Guess." 

"Smooth," you said. There was no denying that part of you was very impressed.

Billy gave a light chuckle as he shifted gear and pulled out onto the street. "Where did you live, again?" he asked. 

"I don't think I ever told you," you pointed out. 

"Bit hard to drive you home if I don't know where you live, don't you think?" He glanced over at you but you stubbornly looked ahead, wanting to keep him guessing. "You gonna tell me? Or should I just take you home to mine?" 

As tempting as that sounded, you were eager to go home and shower. "Coming on a little strong, aren't you, Hargrove?" 

"Suit yourself. I don't offer that to all the girls I meet," he said and clicked his tongue. 

"You'd better not," you said and looked over at him. 

He laughed at that. An actual full laugh that had his shoulders bouncing and his eyes squinting. "You're something, Y/L/N." 

Grinning, you turned to look through the windshield. "Just get me home," you said with a smirk.

『••✎••』

Taglist: @manyfandomsfanvergent

[blushstories]

now that ive seen u write “You’ll be safe, yeah? You come straight to me and Hughie the moment you’re out.” I simply have to request a scenario in which it happens - maybe r really doesnt think she's going to make it out but she manages it and when she gets to hughie and butcher she's so overwhelmed that she just starts to cry, and soft moments w butcher ensue I CAN SEE IT

screaming, crying, a puddle on the floor rn. let's do this. THIS GOT LONG uhh slight tw for refs to the deeps misogyny

You don't know how Hughie managed it last time. Going undercover, planting a bug. You've only been in the building for ten minutes and you're wrestling with your nerves, trying to keep your heartbeat down and your breath steady.

Your boss at work was sent an NDA from Vought after having one of his office buildings destroyed by Homelander. When you mentioned it during dinner one night, all Butcher saw was an opportunity for infiltration, and the planning began.

The man who's taking your meeting is an Everyman type, dressed well, glasses, matter-of-fact tone of voice. Clipboard in hand, he leads you into the largest meeting room you've ever seen. The windows are floor to ceiling, walls were decorated with flatscreen monitors, and the table with seven seats is shaped in a curve that stretches along the entire back half of the room, leaving large gaps between the seats.

"This is where the Seven usually take meetings," the man says contentedly, taking a seat in the middle. You eye the room warily. "Don't they need it to be available, then?" You ask, wondering about the odds of a member of the Seven walking in. But he simply shrugs with a lucked-out smile. "Fortunately, nothing is booked for the rest of the day. Please, take a seat."

So you do. You begin to listen to him at first, but then you zone out: not only are you supposed to plant a bug, but Butcher gave you a chip to plug into one of the PC's. That would help you gain remote access to the server.

The material of the seat's becoming sticky as you grip onto it, heat radiating from your palms. Your gut has twisted into a maze of knots, a boulder settling into the space between your stomach and diaphragm: you're struggling to breathe properly.

"And to seal the deal, just sign here," you zone into the conversation again just as the man finishes his spiel. "Oh! Let me find a pen for you," his eyes blow wide and apologetic, and he turns away from you to dig through his bag. You notice it's stuffed full; the cuff of a jacket spilling out amongst two notepads and a few packs of tissues. You're amused briefly -- you've never known a man to cary packets of tissues before.

While he's distracted, you slip the bug from the inside of your pocket mirror, pretending you're checking on your makeup. He's struggling to find a pen; packets of tissues fall onto the floor and the rustling's more urgent. He bumbles out an apology but he's still folded over the arm of his chair.

Your heartbeat is in your ears, heat flooding to your cheeks, the backs of your knees. Under the table, you peel off the plastic and stick the bug to the table. While you stuff the plastic into the smallest pocket of your jeans -- with a mental note to flush it later -- the man sits up, flushed and dazed. He holds up the pen for you to take, and you sign the document. Before he can conclude the meeting, you sweetly ask if there's a bathroom you can use.

Footsteps echo loudly in the boardroom, and the further away you get, the more confident you feel. An exhilarating thrill rolls through your body with every heartbeat and you're almost out of the room when red leather boots turn the corner.

You stand rooted to the spot, face to face with one of the most evil people alive. Homelander's eyes meet yours, unblinking, not a soul behind them. He's intimidating; tall, he looks you up and down and sniffs, before a smile spreads onto his face. It reminds you of a clown, a performative mask, hiding his true emotions, preparing to manipulate any situation to his advantage.

You're no match: a sensitive soul with flowers in her eyes. You couldn't dream of a fraction of the acts he's committed. You feel sick to the stomach. He looks up at the man behind the table, "And who's this?" He looks back to you. "Where are you going?"

"NDA client," the man at the back says. "The bathroom," you say as lightly as possible, not wishing to poke the bear. He hums and nods. "Well, you'd better hurry then! I was going to offer you a tour," he sucks air in through his teeth, "but I suppose that's more The Deep's thing, right?" He chuckles at his own 'joke', and your heart thuds in your chest. He looks you up and down, you find your feet and excuse yourself, just catching him roll his eyes at you as you pass.

Hot. You're very hot. It's trickling down your palms and your legs, all tingly and fuzzy. Your cheeks burn with the stress of the encounter, just standing in front of the man has made you want to cry.

But you have one more job. You take a deep breath and continue through the almost empty corridors. While you make your way out, you'll find a computer room. The bathroom appears on a left corner, but the signs say the exit is to the right; the moment you turn, you catch red and blue out of your peripheral vision.

You look up and see, to your relief, the door to the men's bathroom. Without looking, because you already know what you'll see, you spin on your heel and enter the ladies, as if you had misread the signs.

You scan the bathroom stalls, and, confident that they're empty, you catch yourself on a sink. Did he recognise you from somewhere? He must have been able to sense your panic. In which case, he knows you've tried to do something. In which case, he'll follow you out.

In which case, you're screwed.

You swear a few times to yourself, taping the cold ceramic edge with your fingertips. Turning the tap as cold as possible, you let it splash across your inner wrists to help lower your temperature.

Then, you apologise to Butcher under your breath because you need to leave. Now.

You leave the bathroom without looking behind you. Fixing your eyes on the exit signs, you follow them, down a flight of stairs, another hallway, why is this building such a maze? Even though you aren't looking for him, you hear another set of footsteps somewhere distantly behind you. They're heavier, steeped in layer after layer of anguish and rage, except it's only simmering.

When they speed up with you it's an instinctive reaction to look over your shoulder -- and there he is, striding maybe twenty feet behind you.

Everything in your body jolts with white hot fear, you speed up again, keep walking, looking forward, when Annie appears to be walking towards you. All you can hear in your head is "luck, luck, luck!"

As her face becomes clearer, you catch her eye, wasting no time to widen yours, stare intendedly and flick your own behind you. She subtly follows your eyes and then she's gone, not showing any acknowledgement of you at all.

Before you slip into the elevator, you hear Annie's melodic speech drifting through the air, until the doors shut. She saved you. You still want to cry. But there's a camera in the corner, so you stand as still and emotionless as possible, suppressing any trembling that appears like a tortured game of whack-a-mole.

The doors open, you see the exit, and you're finally thinking about the future. Where are they?

"You come straight to me and Hughie the moment you're out."

That's what he said, and now you've turned the corner from Vought and tears are collecting in the corners of your eyes. Scanning the busy streets and avoiding strangers' eye contact. You see his car first, and then you notice the two men leaning against each side, conversing over the roof of the car.

When Butcher sees you approaching, he's only filled with the raw relief that you're alive and begins to smile proudly. But then the sun catches the glistening streaks on your cheeks and your eyes are bloodshot and your shoulders are quirking unnaturally, and dread pools in his stomach. His gut has been hacked into and when you throw your arms around his neck and begin to cry, he assumes the worst.

"I'm sorry-- I'm so sorry, I tried..." your eyelashes tickle his neck, tears seeping into the collar of his shirt. He's startled, and it takes him a moment to slide one arm around your back and hold your head into his shoulder with his other hand. He looks at a wide-eyed Hughie, who is speechless, features weaved with concern. His thumb gently rubs circles into your hair, and he's bewildered.

Your body shakes against his, so his grip tightens around you while he tries to keep you steady. He hooks his arm around your waist in case your legs give up on you, and he looks helplessly at Hughie. You've never been like this before.

"Christ," he whispers to himself. You're holding onto him for dear life. He begins to rub circles onto your back, making a point to breathe deeply to trick your subconscious into copying him. He kisses the top of your head, and lingers. His breath brushes against your head, his grip the only tether you have to Earth.

When your breaths slow down, you squeeze him again tightly. He pulls you away and swipes at the tears below your eyes.

"What happened?" He asks so gently, so sincerely, that you don't have words yet. From your pocket, you retrieve the chip and hold it out, sniffling. He takes it and frowns, in dialogue with himself, and he looks at Hughie.

You can't decipher the look they've shared but Butcher doesn't say anything when his attention is on you again, already catching more tears with his thumb.

Habitually, you look to the floor, but Butcher's hand at your jaw gently maintains your eye contact. "The bug?" You nod, hoping that the fact will make him less annoyed with you. That you haven't failed. He considers this with satisfaction, and pockets the chip.

"I'm so sorry, Billy, I tried to do both but--" Your voice shatters like glass as a new wave of emotion hits you. But he's patient: only Hughie can see that he's beating himself up for doing this to you. It's obvious in the tick of his jaw, the twitching of his fingers, it's written in the creases of his eyebrows.

"When I was leaving," you clear your throat. "Homelander walked into the boardroom. I lied about going to the bathroom so I could find somewhere for the chip but he followed me, and I just kept thinking, what if he catches me? Am I getting out alive? Will I see you again?"

Billy doesn't blink. Hughie doesn't even think he's breathed. His features soften and he leans forward to press a firm kiss to your forehead. "Oh, love. I am so sorry," he whispers into your skin. "I won't make you do that again, yeah?" His eyes narrow when he pulls back, "Did he hurt you? 'Cos I swear to God, that cunt's had it comin' for a while now." You shake your head, he thumbs at your cheek.

"No, no, Annie," Hughie perks up at the mention of her name. "She saw me and distracted him. If it wasn't for her, I would've been trapped in the elevator with him."

A beat.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Butcher shakes his head, eyebrows pulling together. He kisses you tenderly on the lips.

"Listen. The bug may be all we need, the light at the end of this bleedin' tunnel. And you did that, yeah?" He's trying to be optimistic, he's never optimistic. You offer him a small smile. "I won't let the bastard hurt ya. If you're in any sort of trouble," he finds himself saying, "you call me." He slips an arm around your shoulders to pull you close.

"If we need the bug, Y/N, we'll figure it out. Let's get you home," Hughie says with a kind smile. He opens the back door instead of the passenger, and slides in.

You sit in the passenger seat, trembling slightly, but Butcher puts his hand on your knee when he sees it bounce. He inhales deeply before starting the car, already thinking up ways of distracting you and helping you forget the entire thing.

[mandowifey]

i could always go for some love from an ethan character🫶🏼🫶🏼

my pronouns are she/her, my main hobbies are baking, reading, watching movies (old/classic movies >>>>) & traveling. i’m a mix between an extrovert and an introvert but most of the time i’m perfectly ok with being by myself with a good book or nice movie :) i have a cat who i adore & love more than most people😌

Oooh! Hello Anon! Sorry this took me so long. Also, I fully agree with the cat sentiment.

That being said I assign you...

Ellison Oswalt.

Ellison Oswalt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: General fluff, playful, domestic bliss, and traumas. SFW.

○ ○ ○

"Do you think Clint Eastwood ever got tired of being the same cowboy in every movie?"

You stretch your legs across Ellison's lap, and the man grunts to move his notepad out of the way. He pushed up his glasses and laid his wrists on your shins to use you as a writing table. When he did not answer, you glanced towards him and gently dig your heel into his thigh.

"What?"

"Did you hear me?"

Ellison looks at you in a quizzical manner before looking at the tv. On the screen was grainy old western featuring a handful of deceased actors. One man flashed a revolver at the other, which prompted retaliation, and now everyone in the saloon had their guns drawn. He liked older movies, and they gave him a sense of nostalgia. Another grind of your heel brought his thoughts to the present.

"I think if he did, he wouldn't have done so many to begin with," sighed the older man. "He's good at it. He probably liked the easy money. Plus, it wasn't like Disney existed quite yet. Limited roles, limited options, and redundancy is bound to happen."

Pressing your lips together, you squint at him and look at the tv again. "Wasn't my question," you chirp smartly and lift your left leg to bump your foot under his chin. Reviled, Ellison recoiled and slapped gently at your foot until you laughed and dropped it down to his lap. "I asked if he got tired of being the same character," you said again, smirking as you watched him wrestle to keep your legs down.

Once you settled, Ellison slapped his notepad against your knees and pulled a soft giggle from your throat. "I'm sure he did," he places a large hand on your shin and slips it up over your knee. Goosebumps raise on your skin, and you feel a little warm. "Who wouldn't get bored being the same person over and over? Or he felt obligated to keep doing it because he's good at it. Maybe being that cowboy is the one thing he knows best, maybe..."

There's a pause that lasts a beat too long. His eyes close behind his glasses, and you quickly sit up. "Hey." Your palm cups his cheek and turns his head to face you. "Stop that." Your lips press the corner of his mouth as he sighs through his nose. His hand comes up to take down his glasses before he looks at you with his beryl orbs.

"I love you," your voice was gentle and unassuming. "Bad taste in Western movies or not." His lips twitch, and he fights not to smile. He pulls you suddenly to sit in his lap after abandoning his notepad.

"You do, do yah?" His voice is a purr, the grin stretching his features and accentuating the deep grooves of his face. Those uneven teeth flashing you and making your heart pound. Ellison palms your hips, drawing you impossibly close to him as his pupils blow out with desire.

"I do." You agree finally as you lower your mouth to catch his.

He shifts you both and lays you back while kissing you. The degree in which he's on you is scolding, his hands venturing you like it's the first time all over again. As he does, the Tv drones in the background, gunshots going off like fireworks while your own burst behind your eyelids.

I love you too.

[daichiis-scrunchiie]

Karasuno x yankii!fem!reader

info & tw: smoking, minor bullying, y/n being a baddie, fluff, kiyoko time-skip spoiler ✧*。she/her pronouns

Yankii: a Japanese subculture whose members are seen as trashy and uneducated ,, commonly rebel with altered/ customized uniforms and a tendency to fight.

• as a third year over time you've grown accustomed to weird stares and whispers,, waltzing down the hallway with leg-warmers over your tights and a baseball bat casually resting over one shoulder

• your mom fits into the yankii stereotype as a highschool dropout and teenage parent,, in fact you're from a whole line of proud yankiis 😌 your aunts practically raised you with their gyaru influence, so you have a lot of 80s/90s wardrobe hand-me-downs

• there's pictures of your dad with his massive pompadour and motorcycle from when he was younger

• he brings pictures of little you sat on the seat of his old bike,, a daddy's girl 😌💕

• he now works on a construction site and the workers adore it when you pop along to the site after vbc practice

• the guys your dad works with will be cooing over you bringing him lunch one minute to arm wrestling you the next ‼️ you don't hold back because you are surprisingly strOng 💪

• playing poker with the old geezers while dad lays the spackle 😌 bringing this skill to school and winning extra yen for the vending machine

• now as a manager of karasuno--

• you definitely stand out 😳 with kiyoko as the silent beauty,, yachi as the trembling cutie and you as the outlandishly colourful and bubbly girl

• you stand on the sidelines watching practice while blowing bubblegum and smacking your glossy lips

• write every note you can think of in your hello kitty notepad (with fluffy pen obvs),, then switch to your pocket mirror to touch up your eye-shadow

• something like 'yamaguchi's float serve is coming along nicely' surrounded by hearts and cute drawings <33

• kiyoko makes you do kissy faces so she can re-apply your gloss,, girls supporting girls 💪

• scrunchies always on your wrists to give out to long haired players or simply style kageyama's hair on the sidelines,, pinching his cheeks and chatting about who dumped who in your year while he just nods along without complaint

• normally a quick smoke before practice so you'll creep around the side of the gym and find a tired ukai already there

• the first time you joined him and offered your bedazzled Bic™ lighter he was shocked,, but now he's so accustomed to it he just raises his hand as you yell "yo, old man!"

• it's common for takeda to smack you both on the back of the heads,, leaving you both grumbling while stubbing out your ciggs before hopping on the mini-bus

• karasuno,, unfortunately,, lacks a yankii community-- shiritorizawa and aoba johsai however ‼️ you love seeing people that look like you at practice games and you'll often sneak away to hang with them

• on your own turf you've already adopted outcasts and eat lunch with the first years that feel they don't fit in

• the lgbtq+ kids 💕adore💕 you and greet you in the halls every morning

• you bond with hinata over constantly being underestimated; him in volleyball and you academically

• you're actually a true barb and know it's your duty to stay in school and be the first in your family to go to college 💪 so you study hard,, daichi worries you'll burn yourself out but you just wave him off with a smile

• next thing you know he's draping his jacket over your shoulders after you doze off on kinnoshita on the bench

• by nature you are sooo flirty,, you fluster asahi a lot,, harrassing him to feel your legs because "i shaved last night! Feel!! Feel!! They're so smooth~"

• a huge collection of egg magazines from decades ago,, you'll flick through them for fashion inspo during break periods (canonically hq is set in 2012 and egg finished publishing in 2014,, so you were up to date with them xoxo)

• look really scary when you walk with the team into another school,, but you just get along with-- everyone <33

• kenma absolutely adores you and your head scratches-- your ridiculously long acrylic nails are just 🥴 purr-fect

• iwaizumi loves that you don't hold back with harsh high-fives and arm wrestling,, mad-dog is so scared of you lmao 💀

• you won't allow tsukishima to give backtalk and shut him up efficiently with a glare or snappy comeback

• you and tanaka ohmygosh you stress daichi out the most-- making him bald already lmaoo

• you adore your kouhais and offer to help them study,, buy them snacks,, and tell them to never take up unhealthy habits while smoking your fifth cigg (hypocrite)💀

• nasty rumours follow you,, ofc people love to talk smack about you based off your appearance,, your team is quick to shut these down however,, they are pretty intimidating 🤛😌👹

• people always assume you're mean when this is lit-rally you:

• you don't back down from fights tho,, anyone badmouthing your team?? heard the asahi slander enough times?? you're rolling up your sleeves while daichi sighs,, holding his hand out to take your hoops

• you & him are the definition of "kick his ass babe I got yo flower"

• speaking of babe,, you call everyone that platonically!! Unless they're uncomfortable with it then you resort to something a little calmer like 'bro' or 'lovely' ( first time yachi heard it she fainted)

• you're very affectionate and can't help but give cheek kisses and random squeezes,, nishinoya practically floats when you praise his skills

• let's just say the first time you met atsumu he was rendered a stuttering,, flustered mess after the constant flurry of nicknames like "honey, babe, sweetheart"

• your team just glared at him as if to say "you're not special"

• and the way you can talk to people so easily as if you've been besties since you were a twinkle in your mom's eye-- futakuchi was floored when he found you and the scary iron-wall middle blocker and you sat criss cross gushing about his pet tortoise

• all in all you can get along with anyonee,, everyone adores you,, and you actually have a bright future ahead of you much to your haters' dismay 😘 stay mad and stan elle woods ya pussies

• saeko was the one to give you driving lessons and you loved every second of it,, ukai as your supervisor hated it and hurled in a plastic bag more times than he could count

• in the time-skip era you're a successful nail technician-- getting to gossip all day with customers and always drag your highschool friends over for sleepovers + manicures in your hello kitty pj's💅🏻

• you also did kiyoko's nails for her wedding 😭 and you returned the favour of kissy lips by applying a final coat of gloss before she walked down the aisle

A/N: first post,, hope you enjoy <3

Inspo:

What's New - Megan thee stallion

Every Summertime - NIKI

[2fox2furious]

A Glitch in the System Part 5

"Stanley? Stanley wake up we have to go!"

Stanley would've been able to ignore the noise if Francis hadn't been tapping on his shoulder. He groaned, hoisting himself up into a sitting position while he fumbled for his notepad.

But it wasn't there.

Instead, Francis grabbed his searching hand and hauled him out of bed, ignoring the angry gestures Stanley was directing at him. "Yes, yes, I know. I'll explain later, Stanley, we have to get out of here."

He shoved a bag into Stanley's arms, and he nearly dropped it due to its unexpected weight. "I've already packed for you, your writing materials are in there. We've got no time to waste. Hurry."

Stanley allowed Francis to grab his hand and pull him out of the house. The shock of being made to get up so quickly made Stanley's head spin, but he still managed to keep pace with Francis.

Francis kept glancing back over his shoulder, eyebrows pressed downward in a tight line. At first, Stanley didn't notice anything unusual. But that didn't last for long.

The house was glowing. Not all of it, but streaks of light crept up the walls of the house like ivy, illuminating it all in an electric yellow glow that hurt to look at. Stanley looked away, trying to blink away the spots of color that had clouded his vision, and when he looked back, the lights had vanished.

And the house had disappeared along with them.

Stanley gestured wildly back towards the space where the house had once been, too busy processing what he just saw—or, rather, didn't see—to bother pulling out his notepad. It was a good thing Francis seemed to understand what Stanley had wanted to say.

Francis let out a sharp exhale, voice wobbling ever so slightly. It would've been practically unnoticeable if you weren't so used to what he usually sounded like. "My theory is coming true, Stanley," he said gravely. "We need to get out of here quickly. If we don't...I don't—I don't know what will happen."

After wrestling with the contents of his bag, Stanley finally found his writing supplies, and hastily scribbled down [So what now? Our home base is gone, the world's falling apart, and we've found nothing.] He underlined the last word a few times.

"Yes, well, we just need to go farther away. We've been staying near the house after all, no wonder why we haven't found anything." Under his breath, he added, "Is that why the house was the first to..."

[And if we're going in the wrong direction?]

"It's not like we have any better alternatives though, is it?"

Stanley slowly shook his head, frowning. He didn't like this plan, but he could tell Francis didn't either.

"As I thought," Francis sighed. "I suppose we might as well make the most out of our walk as we can. Hmm, oh but what could we do? I'm sure I know some travel songs if you'd be interested in—ah, well I suppose singing probably isn't your thing, is it?"

And there Francis went again, going off on another long-winded ramble, almost as if Stanley wasn't there at all. Not that he minded much. It was nice hearing another one again, another small act of normality. He smiled slightly, attention flickering between Francis's voice and the various pebbles lining the forest floor. He tried kicking them whenever they were in range, but none of them went especially far.

"—Oh, yes, I've got it Stanley! We should play a game."

[A game?]

"Why, yes! It would be a great way to pass the time. Hmm, but what to play..."

[Hide and seek?]

"We don't exactly have the time to stop and hide though, Stanley."

He shrugged. [First game I thought of.]

Absentmindedly, Francis said, "Yes yes, well, we can play that one in the future perhaps." Muttering under his breath, he added, "Oh, hmm, yes this could work..."

[What could?]

"Stanley, what do you think about a rousing game of I Spy?"

Stanley snorted. [I wouldn't exactly call that rousing.]

"Oh come on, let's give it a try. I'll go first." Francis glanced around at their surroundings for a moment. "I spy with my little eye something...blue."

He started to scan the area, but he very quickly lost focus. He couldn't help but notice the way the trees flickered around them like glitchy computer models, and the way the air held this quiet buzz that didn't go away. The air was thick, heavy even. Abnormal.

"Stanley? Are you even paying attention to our game?"

Stanley shook his head, wishing he could shake off that feeling of dread just as easily. [I'm stuck. I give up.]

"Goodness, that early? Why, I thought this was an easy question." He paused, waiting for Stanley to comment, but he didn't. "The sky, Stanley! It was the sky." He sighed. "Alright, well, how about you take a turn? I'll guess."

[Okay, okay. Give me a sec.] He glanced around, looking for something that could work. Every time he thought he'd found something that could work—a grey rock, a patch of red berries, some white flowers—that yellow glow appeared, glitching out the object and added to the pile of dread that had nestled itself deep in his stomach. He just had to look away.

"So? Did you find your object?"

Stanley glanced back over to Francis, locking eyes with him. He smiled. [Yeah, I think so.] He stretched his wrist. [I spy with my little eye something green.]

"Green? Well, that gives me a lot to work with. Let's see... I'm assuming it isn't the leaves." Stanley nodded. "Okay, well that narrows it down. Hmm, is it that moss over there?"

[Nope.]

"Not the moss? My, I thought this game would be easier than this. Is it one of those little green flower buds over there?"

[Still no.]

"Gah, alright fine, you won. I give up."

Stanley grins cheekily. [That early? I thought this was an easy question.]

Francis crossed his arms, but even he was smiling. "Don't give me that. What was it?"

[Your eye.]

"Oh," Francis breathed, face softening. He absentmindedly reached up to the side of his face with his green eye. "Yes that—that's green, that's true."

He was so distracted in fact that he didn't notice the tree he was about to walk into. Stanley wanted to call out, to warn him, but he didn't have the chance to.

But it didn't matter anyways. Moments before Francis was about to walk straight into the tree, the world glitched again. For a second, Stanley was able to catch another glimpse of the glitch creature, but that wasn't even the main thing that caught his attention.

No. The tree had moved.

With a sharp crackle it it split clean down the middle, both parts jumping off to the side to allow Francis to walk through. They hovered there for a moment, long enough for Stanley to get there and try to pass through as well.

Only for him to crash straight into it.

Stumbling backwards, he let out a surprised shout, clutching at his forehead. The tree was back to normal again, except for the faint buzz that, honestly, could've been coming from anywhere. It was definitely louder today than it was yesterday. Stanley wished he had a pair of headphones right then, but he wasn't even sure that would help. It wasn't even coming from his surroundings...it was like it was a part of the fabric of that place itself. Part of the code, even. If he focused on it enough—which he never did on purpose—he was certain he could feel the humming in his bones.

In an instant Francis was by his side, reaching a hand down to help him back to his feet. "Stanley? Stanley, are you alright?"

He nodded, brushing stray leaves and bits of loose bark out of his hair. [Tree.]

"Yes, yes I saw that." While Stanley straightened out the wrinkles on his clothes, Francis fixed his shirt collar for him. "There, all better. Shall we continue?"

Stanley gave him a thumbs up, before dropping his hand to his side, extending it slightly towards Francis. Francis glanced over at him, making a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sigh.

"Stanley, I don't know if that's a good idea right now. I don't want you running into anything again, the parable's becoming unstable and—"

Stanley shook his head, waving his hand slightly for emphasis. [If the world's gonna crumble around me I'd prefer to not be alone while it happens.]

Francis smiled, gently placing his hand in Stanley's. A small burst of static electricity pricked at his skin but it was worth it. Francis's hands were warm. "Alright then. Well, Stanley, let's go find a way out of here."

[vampylurr]

!Spoilers for Flowers from 1970!

I had to do a reading assignment and it could be any book, any kind of book, and genre, etc, etc. I chose Flowers from 1970, you know, that one dreamnotfound story. So if you don't want to read it, but are curious about it here is officially Copy+Paste from my assignment, so read if you want to, I don't care. Major Spoilers to the book, and even if you get all the way through this, I still suggest it.

Introduction/General Book Information

Title: Flowers from 1970

Author: Astronomika on Wattpad

What genre/type of book is it? (Fantasy, humour, science fiction, mystery, biography, non-fiction, etc.)

Flowers from 1970 was a novel made as a gift for two people, Georgenotfound and Dreamwastaken. Though they never had the kind of relationship implied in this novel it is very close to what was shown in streams with their persona's and the two said people don't mind receiving this type of content from fans, simply because they find it funny. It is definitely a fiction novel as one of the most significant objects is an old telephone that connects George and Dream a fifty-year time difference, Dream comes from 1970, while George is from 2020

Main Character

What is the main character’s name?

The main character’s name is George Davidson, a 24-year-old video game coder.

Describe this character (Physical and personality traits):

George Davidson a 24-year-old boy lived in an old house in Florida, as we go along in the story he describes himself as around 5’5(Inference compared to what he says about Clay), he has a long face that is evened out with a sharp jawline, a medium-sized nose, lips full enough that they don’t disappear when he smiles, his hair is a dark brown that is normally cut short but is a little longer at the moment. I did not use the real person for this description, these are pretty close to actual quotes in the book when Clay asks what he looks like. For a Personality he is described as a kind person, due to his job he doesn’t get out much, nor make friends often, When Clay doesn’t call him for a week he starts going out more because he thought that that's what Clay would have wanted him to do.

How can you relate to or identify with the main character?

George in this book has a lot of things that I can somewhat relate to, for George he didn’t have a hard time making friends, rather he doesn’t get out much to meet people. Most of the people he ends up meeting talk to him first. Dream was actually one of his first friendships.

Another Character

Who is another character?

Another character who happens to be another main character is Clay, or Also known as Dream for most of the story(no last name is given).

Describe this character (Physical and personality traits):

Dream is a 21-year-old living in 1970, he works as a baseball coach and lived in the same house as George. George Describes Dream as around 6’0 from a photo sent to him in a time capsule and a green handprint Dream presses into the wall in one of their conversations, The handprint is described as being bigger than Georges by a fair bit so that prompted George into guessing he was tall. Dream has shaggy dirty-blonde hair that sticks out at odd angles, he also has a cat named Patches, though she isn’t described. As stated by both Sapnap and George Dream is cocky and full of himself most of the time, he wants to be nothing like his father who was an abusive alcoholic, though he does get drunk once in the book to deal with his problems to see if his dad's methods actually worked.

Setting

(Where does the story take place? When is the story happening?)

Describe the time and place of the story:

Flowers from 1970 takes place in both 1970 and 2020, the phone connects Dream and George. The house that the story takes place in is located in Florida.

Comments about the setting:

(EX: setting makes story exciting, the setting has an important effect on the main character, the setting is/is not exciting or new, setting increased my knowledge of something):

A quote from the book is a perfect description of the place; “Now you know that once upon a time, in the same room, of the same house, fifty years apart, Clay and George Davidson had loved each other.” The book takes place in the same house at two different times, Dream being the past owner, while George being the future owner. They find out how to communicate with each other by that telephone, and Dream could send George things from the past by affecting small things, like burying a time capsule in the corner of the yard then telling George where it is over the phone, George can unbury it since it’s from the past, the things will be old and musty since it was fifty years since it was buried but it was an efficient way to send things.

Theme

(What did the author want you to experience, feel, or understand through reading this book? A theme can be about specific people and particular situations or about life in general.)

What is or are the topic(s) of the story?

(EX: courage? working hard? doing the right thing? greed? family? The importance of friends? jealousy? love? caring? happiness? sadness?)

The importance of moving on from things. When Dream died He told George that he made sure he couldn’t contact past Dream again, he wanted George to move on from him because no matter how much they loved each other it would never work, Dream cant have his heart in 2020 when it belonged in 1970.

Plot

(The Action/Summary of What Happened in the Story)

Summary of the story:

(In order, list 4 - 6 events that happened in the story. Keep them in order):

Dream tries to call his friend Sapnap about the assassination of the governor of Florida. He ends up contacting George by accident. George tells Dream that he has the wrong number and that the assassination happened 50 years ago and that the next day his right-hand man, Tubbo, was almost killed. They end the call leaving George thinking the guy who called him is an uneducated lunatic.

Dream calls the next day knowing that it's not his friends demanding that George tell him who he knew that Tubbo was almost murdered. George re-explained to him that it happened 50 years prior and everyone knew about it because they learned it in school. Dream finally asked the date, it was June 28, 2020, Dream told George it was June 28, 1970. This is how their friendship started to kick off.

During the second cell phone conversation they realized that the house They were in at the current time was the same one as each other and on the third call Dream wanted to test something to see if he could change current moments, he dipped his hand in line green paint and pressed it against the wall, it showed up on Georges side but it was worn and chipped as the time wore it down, George pressed his hand against it and Dream caught him in the act as a joke.

Dream sent George a time capsule by burying it in the corner of the yard George found (He encounters Wilbur the first time looking at him oddly while writing something in his notepad) it and opened it on Dreams next call, the capsule contained a container of lime green paint(the same Dream used), Pow-Chew(Dream’s favourite Gum), Music cassette, baseball cards, Quartz(Dream sent it to him because it’s his favourite thing and he wanted to give it to his favourite person, finding that it would be wrong to tell that to someone who didn’t even exist yet he told George that he didn’t he’d need it when he was older), and A polaroid of Dream.

George used the line green paint and pressed his own handprint into the wall next to Dream’s.

(THIS IS IMPORTANT!)Dream sent George a packet of Cornelius flower seeds(Georges favourite flowers, since Dream asked), he had gotten jealous of a couple while on the phone with George because unlike them The long-distance relationship between him and George the distance could never be closed.

George plants the flowers after going to the same flower shop that Dream happened to go to, to buy the flowers, he gets help from his neighbour Wilbur(after Wilbur jots down something in a notepad his neighbour helps)and makes a new friend in the process.

Dream asks George what he looks like, since they cant send things from Georges side they draw on the wall, George describes himself and Dream draws if something is wrong George with tell him and Dream will correct it.

(THIS IS IMPORTANT!)Dream forgot to call, Wilbur came over for some company of George with some cider and they had a family meal.

Dream doesn’t call for a week after he realizes he’s in love with George it’s been at least three months since they first started talking, during that week Wilbur’s family has a family emergency doing with the father that came back from London (BEFORE ANY BIG THINGS HAPPEN!) George watches Wilburs son, Tommy.

The night that George is out eating dinner with Wilbur’s family, Dream calls, he plans to tell George how he feels. George needs to take Wilbur’s family to the hospital, The father is getting worse, he seized up.

They get to the hospital. Wilbur's dad wants to see George. “He called you today, you know.” He tells George, he was confused, and it turns out that It was Dream. “You love him don’t you?” George responds with yes. “I just can’t have my heart in 2020, when it belongs in 1970.”

“Take care of those flowers, Wrong Number.” That was the last wish to George before Dream died.

Wilbur visits the next day, he shows Dream’s Journal to George, on the last page there were dates written down, the dates were every time something happened, George unburied time capsule, I forgot to call, etc with every date. In the middle of their visit Dream calls, He confesses, George confesses, they love each other, in the moment of tears, Wilbur Wrestles the phone out of George's hands and cuts the wire. That was what Dream wanted Wilbur to do, he wanted George to move past him.

What did you like about the book? Why? Be specific.

I enjoyed everything about this book, the writing style was amazing, the characters were amazing. George’s description of himself to Dream was honestly believable, something someone would say.

What didn’t you like about the book? Why? Be specific.

The ending was probably the one thing I really disliked, I liked it but it was sad, I was a mess after I read that ending, both George and Dream knew that in Georges time Dream would be in his seventies but why did he have to die?

Was the story believable or was it confusing and/or hard to believe? Explain Why?/How?

Flowers from 1970 is a very believable story, though it was fiction everything was explained as if you were in the story, you could picture everything, you could picture Tommy and his mixed cereals, you could Picture George on his bed waiting for Dream to call him, you could picture Dream smirk as he harassed George for holding handing with the handprint on the wall.

Explain what you thought of the ending …(good, bad, exciting, confusing, frustrating, etc)…and why.

Ending amazing, but so sad, the quote that made my tears fall even more was when Wilbur cut the phone cord; “I saw my friend die twice, both versions of him.” This is from George.

Overall Rating (0 to 10 stars):

10/10 stars

Would you recommend this book to others? Why?

I would recommend it to anyone, even people who aren’t big fans of the Youtubers this book was made for, it has a plot that is followed all the way through, it really goes for readers emotions, and from what I’ve seen everybody who has read this book has shed some tears. I think it would do good if it ever got published to paperback.

Extra quote!: “Right Person, Wrong Time.”

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

A goddamn blaze in the dark

The first time Emily sees Sue, the first thing she does is drop a cup of steaming hot coffee onto the floor, slip on it and land flat on her back behind the counter. And then she thinks — Oh. Found you.

To be fair, even without the pesky niggling at the back of her head, very helpfully pointing out that this was the girl, her soulmate, the love of her life, her forever and beyond, the sight of Sue would have knocked her down anyways. What else are you supposed to do when a pretty girl, dressed in tweed, with her hair tied up in a braid, walks into the coffee shop where you work with that smile on her face? That damned smile that doesn’t ask you so as much as inform you that you’re going to be haunted by it in your dreams tonight? With 10 am sunlight filtering in through the sides, casting half of her features in sharp, glorious light, Emily might as well have just signed away her breath for eternity.

Lavinia bends, looks her right in her eye from above her. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

She wants to open her mouth to say something along the lines of – It's her! It’s her! What comes out, however is a garbled groan.

“Emily, buddy,” Austin rollerblades over to her, bends over her from the other side. “You gotta get up before there are complaints of unprofessionalism in the workplace.”

“Oh, because you’re the pinnacle of workplace niceties, I assume,” Lavinia shoots him a contemptuous look. “Only last week, wasn’t it? Those two young ladies in here fighting over who you were going to take to the mixer—”

“Guys,” she manages, before Austin can respond with something equally snarky, or god forbid, lascivious. “Is anyone minding the counter?”

And for exactly thirty seconds, the amount of time it takes Austin to slide over and ask for the orders of the disgruntled customers, and before she stretches out her arm and lets herself get pulled up to her feet, she hears a sweet voice enquire if everything’s quite alright back there. Emily closes her eyes, breathes it in, and wishes, not for the first time that hour, that she had her notepad near her to scribble a snippet of a poem that is now rapidly forming in her head.

*****

It is only sometimes that Sue looks at Emily and thinks that if Emily were to say the word, she would get down on her knees and hand over the entire world to her. Most of the time what she is thinking is goddamn it, Emily.

That’s what is going through her head as they’re kicked out of the lecture of the old man droning on about volcanoes. She can hear Emily giggling from behind her, and though her heart’s beating loud — the result of embarrassment and pure adrenaline — the sound makes her want to turn around and regard the idiot making it. So she does.

They’re alone in the deserted staircase; all the students, she guesses, are probably in that abysmally monotonous lecture. Emily leans against the banister, bent over at the waist from the sheer force of her mirth, and Sue takes it all in — her laugh, her gentle hands clutching at the wooden surface, and those intense, sparkling eyes looking right into hers. The next Goddamn it, Emily isn’t exasperated. It stays right there in her throat, accompanied by other, tender platitudes she’s never been brave enough to let herself say.

You’re beautiful. You make me ache inside.

(At night, Emily would talk to her about pressure, an acute force that demands to be released within her, and unable to help herself, the words — I think I know what a volcano feels like — would bubble up from her lips. And when Emily moves against her, a writhing mass of soft, bundled up wanting, Sue thinks she understands Pompeii a lot better as well; understands being frozen in time, brought to your knees by the sheer majesty of beauty and violence.)

*****

Listen, Emily has never claimed to be an expert on love.

(Austin has, on several occasions. Sauntered into the café, placed his elbow on the counter, and grinned roguishly. “Emily,” he’d started, once. “You know what the”—

“Is it that time of the month again?” Lavinia, who had been mopping up the floor, drawled. “Too much time since your last breakup but not quite enough that you can start going out with another girl and still maintain that image of the soft, sensitive manchild you’ve carefully cultivated. So you’re stuck in that weird limbo of no dates to go on, and subsequently are here to bore us.”

He’d chucked a tissue in her direction, continued smoothly. “As I was saying, do you, my dear Emily know what girls like best?”

“My sunny disposition?” she’d asked.

“No,” he replied flatly. “What girls want is someone who is cool. Indifferent. Somebody who displays absolutely zero interest in them. In fact—”

“That is horseshit,” Lavinia cut in.

Emily faux-gasped, continued leaning the espresso machine.

“Don’t you listen to him, Em. Girls like sweet, sensitive people who express an interest in wanting to get to know them.”

“I am an expert on women.”

“I am a woman!”

Emily half-listened to the sound of their bickering, and wished that she were a cat)

She considers both approaches briefly as she faces the girl, wondering why time hasn’t at least done them the decency of slowing down. It’s only polite, isn’t it, for the universe to cooperate when two eternal lovers meet. Emily has no justification as to why the universe should be so invested in the meeting of her and this woman who she’d decided was her intended, except it just makes sense.

(Intended. The word feels like it bears the weight of a hundred years. Like a woman back in the 19th century was whispering it to another woman she was in love with, as they lay in bed playing with each other’s hands.)

(It fits. She doesn’t care to find out why)

The girl opens her mouth. Emily holds her breath.

“You’ve got foam in your hair.”

The words — “It makes them bounce” — are out of her mouth before she can think. And then she wishes she’d picked up another cup of coffee in her hand so she could drop it on her head again.  

Thankfully, the girl laughs. Rests both her elbows on the counter and assesses the menu above Emily’s head. Emily doesn’t mind the reprieve from eye-contact. There’s something about looking right at this.... angel, for lack of a better word, that makes breathing cumbersome. And yet there’s another part of her that wants to raise her arms above her head and bounce like a little child, all “Hey! Look at me! It’s me!”.

(It’s a very strange day)

“What would you recommend?”

“Me?” Emily startles a little. Turns back to the menu, then back to the girl. Blinks. “That depends on your name.”

“How does my coffee order depend on my name?” the girl sounds amused.

Emily shrugs. “Eh. It’s a process. Can’t give away all my secrets.”

There’s prolonged eye contact, again, before the answer comes. “Sue.”

It rings in her head. Sue. Sue. Sue. There’s no prettier word in the English language. Saying it over and over in her head feels like a prayer. She tells Sue to wait a moment, and then turns to make her a caramel freakshow, all the while acutely aware of eyes on her. Her clothes are drenched in coffee, and she’d picked out the most faded of her t-shirts to wear today. God only knows what she looks like from behind.

The drink is her very best effort, though. Topped with the best slices of fresh fruit, and she’s made the swirls on the cream topping extra carefully. “Coffee for,” she pauses, pushes at the glass gently till it’s on Sue’s side, “Sue.”

“Can I ask what’s in this.... concoction?”

“My hear—” Emily knows she’s turning red, and desperately look away. “Um, coffee?”

Sue fumbles in her bag, and she wrestles with the urge to say — “Nevermind, it’s on me!” — which would not be the wisest. Emily hates the idea of taking money from Sue, that too, for something as measly as a coffee. Probably because she knows that if Sue were only to ask once, she would make her coffee every day, unprompted.

(She cannot reiterate enough – It's a very strange day)

When Sue steps away, Emily feels loss. It’s an unusual nudge to her sternum, a tingle in her hands that wants her to call Sue back. Before she has the time to dwell on it too much, Sue does.

“Do I,” she starts, frowning a little “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Yes.  

Yes.

I can’t explain it but we know each other somehow, the same way artists know their muses, and flowers know their bees, and my hands know how to write poems — and maybe a hundred years ago you and I were neighboring trees in the woods, or two seeds in the same tangerine; I’m pretty sure my knowledge of your existence was probably coded in my blood.

“Do you?”  

Sue seems to consider that for a while before shaking her head, and then walking over to take a seat by the window.

(And if she catches Emily stealing a glance every five minutes, she’s nice enough to not mention it)

*****

The day of her wedding is the happiest day of her life so far, and yet, the wedding has very little to do with it.

It’s a tiny, foolish fact that this is the first smile she sees on Emily after Ben’s tragic death, and yet, it makes her feel unreasonably pleased with herself. If her life were split into days she could see and touch Emily, and dreary days — the former were made significantly better if Emily smiled in them. Not to be dramatic, but the sun shines better, the skies glow prettier, and the ground is a little easier to run on.

Emily points out somewhere in the middle of their frolicking, for back of a better word, in the woods, that her dress is getting ruined. And then flings a flower onto her face. Goddamn it, Emily, she says, and then is struck dumb by the sound of her loud, exuberant laugh.

(And even quieter still when she holds the magnifying glass over the tiny piece of paper Emily had handed her earlier, the words washing over her like some tidal wave, drowning her in emotions too terrifying to admit. I held her hand the tighter, she reads and she smiles; Still in her Eye, the Violets lie, she reads and punctuates with a deep breath and when she reaches the end, the Sue – Forevermore, she’s aware of an awful keening in her throat, of the sob waiting to make its way out. Emily, Emily, her heart sings, and she is sure it will never shut up again)

She thinks of Emily the whole time, through the vows and the subsequent cheers, as they make their way into the house; thinks of her when Austin holds her tight and tells her that he loves her. A quiet voice, the sound of her guilt crawls up from inside her to tell him that she loves him too. She may be his in name, but her heart isn’t hers to give away anymore.

*****

Seven. That’s how many days she steals glances at Sue in the library before they talk again.

Monday, 9 am: The librarian’s just gotten started with her morning coffee, which means that Emily can sneak her own breakfast past her bleary eyes without being detected. She gets the books that she wants off the shelf, makes her way to her usual chair at the very back of the room and settles in. Her bag gets hooked to her chair by the straps, the tiny diary, her faithful companion, finds a place beside the humongous book, and the coffee sits next to her breakfast burrito. After the entire process is done, she stretches her legs, leans back, looks up and freezes.

Sue is seated on a nearby desk, staring at her.

Emily looks away, on reflex. Her heartrate’s up, and her palms suddenly feel clammy. She takes a deep breath, takes in the floor, and tells herself she’s seeing things. Surely, there’s no way the girl of her dreams also goes to her college and it absolutely isn’t possible that she’s sitting in front of her, in the flesh. She readies herself, looks again.

Sue’s still looking at her, now amused as well.

Well. There go her studies.

Tuesday, 8:50 am: Her plan is foolproof. There is no way she will be caught off guard again. She will be first to the library this time, and she will be prepared when Sue walks in, ready to impress her with her overall charm and chill-ness. There will — not — be a repeat of yesterday when she’d spent the better part of two hours hyperventilating, stealing secret looks or straight up going red every time Sue caught her eye and smiled at her.

The librarian hasn’t even started eating yet. Her head’s resting on the desk, and her eyes are tiny slits, when Emily runs in, makes her way to her own seat. Sue’s seat is empty, thankfully.

(Emily totally does not punch the air in celebration, startling a few other sleepy students)

She stretches out her arms, places them behind her head and waits.

And then jumps about a feet in the air when a hand brushes her shoulder.

There are multiple things happening all at once — the gentle hand resting on her shoulder for a moment, a hand whose warmth she instinctively recognizes as being a familiar one, despite never having felt it before (she knows it’s her. There’s no other option. Nothing else could make the skin at the back of her neck prickle in anticipation), a faint, teasing whisper of “I thought we weren’t allowed to eat in here”, and the realization that her plan has woefully failed.

(Why, then, does she feel so happy about it?)

Sue passes by, turning back once to shoot her a quick grin, and then settles into her usual chair, opening the book already present on the desk in front of her.

Emily’s jaw stays on the floor. The state of her heart stays up in the air.

Wednesday, 9:00 am: Sue opens the note Emily’s just chucked her, reads it, and smirks.

Emily waits. It had been an impetuous decision to scribble “Waffle?” onto a scrap of paper she’d torn out of her notebook, when Sue had looked at her earlier, but it’s alright. These are matters of the heart, and matters of the heart require at least 25 percent an attitude of ‘Ah, fuck it’, another 25 percent of run-of-the-mill stupidity, and 45 percent the ability to laugh at your own shenanigans.

Oh, and about 6 percent bad math.

She catches the crumpled-up note that comes sailing through the air in return and opens it up. “I was taught not to accept food from strangers”, is written in beautiful cursive, along with a smiley face.

(A smiley face. A smiley face!)

Thursday, 9:10 am: She writes — “You know, I am named after one of the best American poets, and your name coincides with the name of her ultimate love and muse. Some would say we’ve known each other a long time” — and slides it over to Sue, heart in her throat.

Twenty seconds later, the sound of Sue’s clear laughter rings out in the otherwise quiet place, and Emily is so enchanted she nearly falls off her chair.

(She hands off half of the breakfast burrito to Sue when she passes by to grab another book, and Sue’s grateful smile just about makes her day)

Friday, 9:00 am: The book she usually grabs to pore over is already sitting on the desk in front of her usual chair. After Emily’s done waving hi to Sue, and has settled down, she notices the tiny flap of paper poking out of the first page. Tucked in the corner is a tiny note.

“As an English major, this is your game, isn’t it? Using words to impress people? :P”

It doesn’t take her long to compose a reply.  

“First of all, how dare you? Second, is it working?”

Sue covers her face with her hands when she opens it. Emily counts it as a win.

Saturday, 8:50 am: The poor boy who has been sitting in the next row all week finally loses it after they’ve exchanged their fifteenth et of notes for the day.

“Can you people, like, just text like the rest of us, for fuck’s sake?”

When the rest of the people surrounding them nod in agreement, Emily sinks into her chair, catches Sue’s equally embarrassed gaze from across the room, and resists the urge to laugh like an idiot.

Sunday, 10 am: The morning’s been hell.

Austin had been panicking about some test he had on Monday, and so she’d come in to help out at the café, early morning. Between quizzing him on his flashcards and making sure every customer had a full cup in front of them, Emily completely lost track of time until Lavinia dragged her apron off her.

“What?” she’d asked, bewildered.

The clock was pointed out to her.

(No, she does not leave an outline of her body behind when she dashes out of the café. There is, however, a mad moment when she’s pretty sure her legs are scrambling with her body still at rest. It is pretty comical nonetheless)

From the entrance she sees a couple of things on her desk, and is a little miffed. Clearly, somebody else has claimed this prime spot with a vantage point from where she could stare at the most interesting woman in the world all day. And yet, she approaches it, because the chair is empty.

The book catches her eye first. It’s a copy of Hope is the thing with feathers by her namesake, and it’s got a note with a familiar handwriting peeking out of the top. She reads, delighted, a haiku about fruit and tenderness that’s been scribbled on it. And then she gets to what’s lying next to the book — what seems to be a sandwich, wrapped carefully in foil. She touches it. It’s cold, as though it’s been waiting there a while.

The smile on her face is definitely a permanent fixture now, she decides, as she walks over to where Sue is sitting and pretending to not look over. Her heart’s tripping over with delight, with gratitude with something tender that she’s absolutely sure she hasn’t felt before. Hope is the thing with feathers, indeed and it is perched in her soul. She pulls out the chair next to hers, and sits down.

“Thank you,” she says, quietly, and swears to god she can hear the entire table go Fucking finally — before Sue shoots her a small smile.

*****

“Only you would show up at a party looking like a raccoon,” she tells Emily, exasperated.

(And enamored. And besotted. Emily makes an adorable raccoon)

“I’m not here for the party — I’m here for you,” Emily shoots back, defiant. “As long as I can still see, I wanna look at you.”

And oh, there it is. There’s the Emily she knows, saying words that slide into her chest as easily as their hands go together. Words are Emily’s deadliest weapons, and she wields them to inflict sheer havoc.

Isn’t that just it, though? Emily has no idea. No idea what it does to her to have her this close — with their foreheads pressed to each other’s, their noses a whisper away, with Emily surrounding her, taking every one of her senses and carving her name on them. Sue feels a hand on her hair, then on her cheek, and knows she’s this close to losing any bit of self-control she might have had.

She steps away, composes herself, and thinks, Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

*****

“You might as well have ditched us,” Lavinia grumps.

“What?” Emily blinks, momentarily distracted from whatever text she was in the middle of shooting off to Sue. “Oh.”

“Not cool, dude,” Austin chimes in from the other side. They’re smushed into the couch together, planted in front of the screen where some 80s movie is on. It’s a weekend, which means movie nights filled with chicken wings and some dreadful drink that Austin’s invented that he calls the Faustinator, because.... reasons, apparently. And Emily’s just now realizing that she has no idea what the movie even is because she’s spent most of her time texting Sue. “You’re texting your sweetheart lameass cringy shit.”

“How do you know what I’m texti— Austin, stop reading over my shoulder!”

(She conveniently ignores the sweetheart thing. It’s easier than the alternative, which would be to dwell too much on the possibility of Sue being her sweetheart, and Emily being Sue’s and oh — she can feel herself smiling again.)

“Believe me, it isn’t easy on me,” he snarks. “Two months of talking our heads off about Sue, Sue, Sue and free drinks for Sue, Sue, Sue and pining over—”

“It has not been that long!”

“Lavinia?” he asks.

“Two months, two weeks and four days,” Lavinia tells her, flatly. “That’s how long we’ve had to hear about how you know her and that you’re convinced she is the love of your life.”

“I do.... know her,” she trails off, uncertain. It’s one matter to think it and feel it, like she’s felt the absurd familiarity in her bones every time she hears Sue’s voice, or Sue touches her skin, and sets it on fire. Another matter entirely to set about explaining it. Plus, other, unrelated things, like how reading Emily Dickinson’s poems feel like a friendly little nudge someone’s giving her, an inside joke, or why sometimes she feels so, so much that she would burst if she didn’t write that very moment.

“She walks you to class most days from the library.”

“And she’s been coming to the café every other day, and listening to you rant about random things,” Austin chimes in.

“Didn’t she write Emily a couple of poems as well?”

“Hey, that’s,” she starts, pauses, smiles. “Yeah. I, uh, told her nobody had ever written me anything before, and she — she’s really sweet.”

“Honey,” Lavinia says, gently, “the woman’s in love with you.”

“Oh-kay!” Emily jumps up from the couch and announces her intention to get more popcorn. And the pokes her head out from around the corner, and asks, in the tiniest voice.

“Really?”

Two chips come flying in her direction, and then they can’t stop laughing.

*****

There’s a kind of truth in the life she lives when she’s alone; no one to defer to, no one to explain to why she doesn’t want children or why, even after a couple of months of a blissful wedlock with Amherst’s most eligible ex-bachelor, the smile slides off her face as easily as the fruit punch in her parties off the plates. And then there’s the second kind that has to be dragged out of her — with heaving breath and shaking hands and salt dripped out of her eyes. Honesty that scalds and tears up her inside as it makes its way out of her.

(It’s a particular bit of irony in the fact that Emily is both the cause, and the only one who ever gets to witness the fallout, of the second one)

“Emily, I love you.” she says, like Emily’s put her arms down her throat and is ripping the words out of her. “I love you, and, and I felt you in the library — because you’re always with me.”

There’s a moment of complete, utter silence, when she stares at Emily and Emily stares back at her and the space between them is filled with the distance of lies and fury — and then they crash together. It’s an impossible push and pull, and Sue feels, for the first time in weeks, this complete surrender, abandon of all inhibition. Love tastes like Emily, and it feels like drowning and sounds like the tiny noise Emily makes when they part, like she can’t stand to be away even a second longer. All of what she knows about love is Emily.

If Sue could write, this is what she’d put down on paper: the feel of Emily’s neck beneath her hand, the way she melts when Sue wraps an arm around her. This yearning to be closer, the hunger to consume and the reluctance towards stopping. She wants, so badly to do Emily the same honor of immortalizing her in the form of words — she deserves it. The world deserves to know how she felt about this.... miracle, this angel in her arms. More than anything else, Emily deserves to know how Sue feels about her.

She turns to her side, kisses Emily’s hand once, twice. “I will never let go of you again.”

*****

Life is an endless sea of pain.

“Emily, she’s just a girl,” Austin tells her, then immediately flinches as Lavinia whacks him on the head.

Emily wipes away the moisture from her face with the sleeve of her favorite oversized hoodie, sniffles, and sticks her spoon in the tub of ice-cream again.

“Not to pry,” Lavinia starts, hesitantly, “but we still have no idea what happened. You came running into my room a week ago and haven’t stopped crying since. I guess — I guess we just want to know what’s up.”

Emily sighs. “It’s Sue.”

Austin blinks at her. “Yeah I — I mean, we know that.”

She thinks back to Sunday morning when she’d come upon her favorite restaurant while out on a run. The sight of Sue, sitting there with some.... dude. It was a cozy booth, and the way the guy seemed to be smiling in Sue’s direction couldn’t be construed as anything but romantic.  

“A date?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re telling us this is because you thought Sue was on a date?”

What wasn’t clicking? “Sue was on a date. There were flowers on the table and everything.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been returning her calls or texts? And have expressly forbidden us to tell her where you are when she comes into the café, like, everyday?”

Emily shifts. “Yes?”

Lavinia whacks her on the head.  

“Ow,” Emily groans. “What’s with all the violence?”

“Oh, stop it, you big baby. Now,” she took a deep breath, and Emily knew instinctively a huge lecture was incoming, “let’s examine the facts, shall we?”

“Is there any point in refus—”

“No. So, you like this girl, and it seems like she likes you too. But you refuse to do anything about it, like, you know, maybe admitting it to her. Then, you come upon her having lunch with some random dude and you assume it’s a date, and then freak out about it and cut her off.”

“But I’m pretty sure it was a date!”

“Fine! Okay! It was a date! So what? You expect her to hang around waiting for you to get your shit together, what, forever? And what if she doesn’t like you, god, Emily! I—”

“Okay, okay, wait!” she cuts in, holds up a hand to gather her thoughts. “I — I get what you’re saying, okay? I really do.”

“I know I have no right to be angry. She doesn’t owe me anything — I just. I dunno. I thought we had something. But even if that wasn’t the case,” she scrambles to add, “I guess I’m just taking pre-emptive action. To not get hurt. I can’t stick around and watch her fall in love with someone else, okay? I just. I can’t.”

Austin pats her on the back, and she sinks into his arm. This, of all things, is true. There are a multitude of things in life she has had to bear, and that she has borne, but this — watching Sue slowly fall in love with someone else, would be unbearable.  

She has another spoonful of ice cream. “I’m being an asshole, aren’t I?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Lavinia agrees. “But give yourself a break — you’re in love. It turns everyone a little bonkers.”

“It’s fucked.”

“No!” Austin and Lavinia tell her, together, before Lavinia continues, “Listen, I think you should talk to Sue.”

“Pretty sure she hates me now.”

“If she does, then go and face it. Honestly, though, I think you owe it to her, and also to yourself, to explain your side of things.”

“I’d literally rather die.”

“Then go do your dying in the fucking library. It’s almost ten, anyways.”

*****

She can still feel Emily’s teeth on her collarbone, can still wrap an arm around herself and trace the marks Emily’s fingers have left on her, when Sue announces that she’s trying to write a poem.

Emily throws off the sheets from her body, and turns so their heads are close. Sue’s sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped in sheets herself, eyes closed. She opens them when Emily’s nose nudges against her cheek.

“You are?” she asks, hand already playing with Sue’s hair, and Sue nods. “What’s it about?”

Sue cannot stop herself rolling her eyes. “Guess.”

“Is it,” Emily asks, teasingly, “about me?”

“Maybe.”

There’s a delighted gasp from her paramour, and she can feel a small kiss pressed to her temple. “I want to read it.”

“Only when it’s done.”

“And when will it be done?”

She turns to look right at Emily now. “I’m not sure it ever will.”

When Emily kisses her — every time Emily kisses her, Sue adds a line to the poem in her head. She’s running out of words to express joy, passion and beauty, at this point.

“The romance of it all,” Emily remarks, pretending to swoon. “This way I will live on through your words as well, after I die.”

Sue frowns, feels her lips automatically pull down at the corners. “No talking about death.”

“But we will die, darling,” Emily explains, patiently. “I can only hope that I die first.”

“How — how dare you?” she asks, indignant. “I’m going to try my very best to be the one to go.”

(That one spurs an argument that goes on four rounds before either of the participants admit defeat)

“How about,” Emily starts, ponderously. “Whoever dies first comes back around the next time and finds the other?”

Sue can’t stop the smile. The thought is so whimsical, it drives their previous non-argument right out of her head.

“You think we’ll come back someday, years after our deaths?”

“Try and stop me,” Emily declares, fondly. “Susan Gilbert, I will always — always find you.”

Sue closes her eyes, feels Emily’s lips ghost over her cheek and tries to imagine the thought of the two of them, years from now, sitting side by side, hand in hand. Breathes deeply to stop the sudden onslaught of tears the image evokes.

“My foolish sweetheart,” she says, after she’s composed herself. “I love you.”

This is what she’ll put in words — Emily next to her, head tilted downwards, turned towards her. In about a minute, she’ll start complaining of the blood rushing to her brain, and Sue, exasperated, will tell her to sit straight. She’ll write about the light that falls on the edge of Emily’s nose, the one crooked tooth all the way in the corner, the tiny scar on her brow. About the way their hands lock into each other’s, how there’s a space on her neck made perfectly in the mould of Emily’s head — two girls, sitting next to each other, together into an eternity, and beyond.

*****

The first time Emily sees Sue after a week-long absence, she’s just run into the library and crashed into a nearby bench, thus bringing down a student, two books, and herself. She gets up almost immediately, sees Sue staring at the sight of her, wide-eyed, and thinks — Oh. Found you.

There’s an empty seat next to Sue, and on the desk lies an apple. Emily approaches her, and touches the back of her shoulder lightly.

“Can I sit here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Sue answers, not looking at her. “Can you?”

Emily has to bite at her lip to keep in the wild laughter that threatens to erupt. It’s not just the quip, either. It’s Sue — seeing her after these many days of zero contact feels like a drug, and she breathes it in, greedily. She pulls the chair out, and sits down on it.

“So,” she starts, then trails off.

“So,” Sue mimics, not unkindly.

“It may have been brought to my attention that I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”

“Only a bit?” Sue raises an eyebrow, leans back where she’s sitting.

Well. “More than a bit,” she amends. “I’ve been an idiot. A dumbass. An utter fool. A rake. A rogue of the highest order.”

Sue tells her she agrees. Then — “You wanna tell me why?”

“I saw you and, um, some guy. On your date that day over at the Plantain Leaf?”

Sue stares. For the longest time. “You ghosted me for a week because you saw me out to lunch with a guy? Emily that is so—”

“I know!” she says, then gets shushed by the people sitting around them. She consciously lowers her voice when she speaks next. “I know, Sue. I was being an asshole, I just — felt complicated about.... things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. Like — feelings. And stuff.”

She sees Sue stifle a smile, and feels a little bit of life come back into her hands.

“What about your feelings?”

“Well,” Emily says, pauses, then comes out with a masterpiece of an explanation, “I have them.”  

Then covers her face with her hands, because why? It hasn’t even been ten minutes, and she’s already started messing things up.

“I mean — I have feelings. For you.”

She chances a look up at Sue, after a minute of that incredibly earth-shattering revelation, and stays held in place by the intensity of her gaze. Sue’s eyes are soft, large, and Emily wants to do something stupid, like bury her face in her hands again.

“You do?” Sue asks her, in the tiniest voice possible. Like she can’t believe it. Like Emily has done an awful job of wearing her whole heart out on her sleeve the past couple of months.

“Yeah,” she replies, and finds her voice is equally tiny. “Good ones.” The kind that have me convinced we knew each other a couple decades ago, that I have heard your voice in my dreams all my life, that I’ve been waiting for you for turn a corner and walk into my life this whole while. And if not this time, I’ll wait a couple decades more for you to love me back. “And it’s okay if you’re dating that guy, I just — I thought you should know. That’s all.”

Sue lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not dating Sam.”

Oh.

So turns out Emily had been holding her breath.

Ants are crawling all over her body. To combat them, Emily picks up the object nearest to her, which happens to be the apple.

“Is that for me?”

Sue nods. “You owe me the six sandwiches I got you this entire week,” she adds, teasingly.

Elation fills Emily until she imagines she’s probably floating a few inches above the ground, buoyed by this tiny admission of caring on Sue’s part. Whoever had said all those things about love had been right. It really was.... something different altogether.

“You’re telling me you sat here and read Emily Dickinson all week, waiting for a girl to show up?”

A light blush lights up Sue, and she leans forward a little bit. “Not just a girl,” she tells her, seriously. “I waited for Emily, who was named after this poet whose work I’ve really come to like. Emily, who I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.”

Oh dear God.

They’re closer together now, their heads almost touching; Emily imagines them in a world of their own, separate from the rest of this library. She pretends to scoff.

“What? You don’t think a lot of Emily?”

“I think I can write better,” she declares.

“You think you can—” Sue starts, then lets out a laugh. “Emily, shut up.”

And then they’re suddenly kissing, and each and every cell in Emily gathers somewhere near her chest to rejoice together, every beat of her heart falls and arranges in the shape of a song, and time just kind of. Slows down. Pauses. Stops.

Emily thinks she knows what a volcano feels like, now. When she’ll go home, later, she’ll sit at her writing desk, pen down a poem about lovers and hands and two women sitting with their heads close together; maybe put in a fruit or two. And tiny pieces will come together in her head, just like the ones in her chest that crumble every time Sue looks at her.  

But right now, she closes her eyes, feels poetry on her lips, and it is good enough.

[can-childe-step-on-me]

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Okay, this demented carrot child always comes first in his year in practically every subject in Liyue Academy without breaking a sweat.

Then you came along from Mondstadt School for Gifted Students and came in first place, with Childe 1 mark behind you

This is obviously a huge blow to him, because no one has ever upstaged him and over 1 stupid mark too! 

School is shit too, so everyone makes a big deal out of it too

Childe swears to god that if he heard one more, “But you were always first place!” he is going to drown the school

As long as you didn’t beat him in P.E, you were safe from his wrath-

*Insert a visual representation of you wiping the floor with the poor boy’s ass in dodgeball*

You didn’t really make a big splash (haha) on your arrival to school as it was test week, but students flocked around you and Childe wishes that your innocent face were a little less cuter so that he could smash it in

He went up to you a few times too, looking for a fight that you tactfully avoided because feral children like Childe are to be ignored

You get bombarded with height jokes every ten seconds, and sometimes, a little whale doodle in found in the corner of your neat notes (in pencil, he doesnt hate you that much)

He becomes really studious at this point, taking notes in classes instead of daydreaming or playing Angry Bards on his phone 

“Joint first place...” You two mutter in disbelief, “JOINT FIRST PLACE?!” 

This is your breaking point too, this stupid orange beanpole cannot equal you in anyway

YOU DID NOT SUFFER A MONTH OF: “Can you reach that?” and variations of “Is the air more polluted down there?” Just for him to TIE with you

You look at him, his blue eyes shining with both fury and the thrill of a competition, both of you share an “It’s on”

This is it, boys. This is w a r

You and Childe squabble more often, perhaps not physically but there was this one time you tried to kick the back of his knees when he used you as an armrest

“You look a little tense down there, do you want a massage?” “I’ll massage your fucking neck-” “If you can reach it, that is.”

P.E is filled with sexual tension.

School is shit, so some of your classmates start shipping it

And though you deny it, and say that you would never date a note-sabotaging hooligan, you realise Childe incredibly gorgeous 

He knows you're beautiful too, which makes competition harder because sometimes he just daydreams about to next wrestling match you have with him. It's not because he likes you or anything he just looks forward to flirting fighting with you!

Then comes D-Day, the day when Childe got the message that he has a raging crush on you

So his brother Teucer, who's in primary school, is found crying in the school playground because he accidentally dropped the notebook his brother gave him into a puddle by none other than you 

You comfort him with chocolate and pick up the notepad, looking at the smudged ink that onced used to be a tutorial on multiplying fractions

Huh, this handwriting is familiar, and that whale doodle-  

Holy shit Childe writes notes for his brother? That’s?? So?? Cute??

Speak of the devil, hear comes the red head, his observant eyes catching the red rings under the small boy’s eyes

He grabs your collar, “What did you do to my brother?” 

Childe has never laid a hand on you before and doesn’t really overstep your boundaries, but if anyone touches his precious brother they will pay

Teucer looks at you two and nearly chokes on his chocolate, “They didn’t do anything! I just dropped-“

Small bub starts crying again and Childe hugs him, “Don’t worry Teucer, I'll write you more! I kinda forgot how to multiply fractions anyway!” He lies.

You’re on your way to the city centre, and since that’s close to where rich boy and rich boy jr lives, they tag along with you

“Thanks, y/n. Sorry for grabbing your collar, are you hurt?” He sheepishly scratches the back of his head, a little ashamed of losing his cool.

“I’m good. I never knew you had a brother!” You reply and Teucer jumps.

“Oh, is this the classmate you were talking about!? The one that beat you-” “SH-SHU-SHUSH TEUCER-”

And basically the rest of the day Teucer blabs about Childe’s crush on you

Childe just finds it adorable how you giggle at Teucer’s antics and how you speak so cutely and sofogohoho everything-

After that event, you kind of realise how nice Childe is

Like buying lollies for his senior, Zhongli during the summer

And sometimes he makes sure you eat well because he “can’t be happy when he beats you when you're not at your full capacity.”

He makes more height jokes, but they're in a gentler context now? Like, “You’re so angry and tiny, I should start calling you pocket rocket.” 

You’re slowly getting whipped for him too though. Sure, he draws those damn whale chibis in your notebook, but they have a little winky face and a heart now.

You don’t rub them out anymore, they’re too cute-

Childe burns himself out a lot, so you let him rest on your shoulder during free period and make sure he’s hydrated 

He’s whipped x2 now, good job

So now you guys go on study dates, and he’ll occasionally quiz you.

If you get something wrong, he gently flicks you on the forehead 🥺 But not too hard because “Competing against a person with dead brain cells is bad sportsmanship.”

Childe becomes more touchy (think chemistry, as time increases, the affection this boy has for you increases) like keeping you on one side of the road and ruffling your hair.

Everyone except you two know that you two are gonna be endgame at one point.

So 120000 coffee dates later, you ask him if he’s single or not (He’s popular with the ladies, gents and the non binary folk) and he shakes his head 

You twiddle your fingers and ask him out

Apparently, according to rumours, Childe is really harsh or incredibly sympathetic in terms of rejection.

Hoping to take the fall gently, you shut your eyes, but instead you feel your hands getting squeezing and you’re met with a red, flustered face 

Childe lets out a “Yes!” which comes out more shy than his usual coy tone of voice.

Ya’ll he’s so nice to you? He’ll still wrestle you and bully you about your height, but it’s so endearing?

So two new highschool sweethearts walk into school hand in hand all bubbly and lovey dovey. 

You both stare at the scoreboard of grades in your year...

You watch the colour drain from Childe’s face and when you look you feel like screaming...

“Joint... First... Place... AGAIN?!”